Love Like the Weather

We’re good at predicting weather these days

If they say it’s going to snow on Tuesday

That means it’s going to snow on Tuesday

They give you a time and everything

2:04pm—rain

You look out your window at that time

And bam—rain

Meteorology is now an exact science

But that doesn’t help you much

When you fall in love with a weatherman

He could tell you when it was going to be sunny

But he couldn’t tell you when he was going to be in a good mood or…

…Or not be in a good mood

The better he got at predicting the weather

The better the, uh, science of it became

The less stable he was

Now—I’m not sure why that is

But I think it’s because the romance of his job

Was just, you know, gone

All of a sudden

There was no mystery to it anymore

No mystique, I mean

So he would just sit there

Poking at his bacon

Looking down at whatever ugly tie

He was wearing that day

Not saying anything to me

Except—‘It’s going to rain today’

‘What time?’ I’d ask

’12:27pm until 12:54, then it’ll be nice out.’

‘Well, that’s good,’ I say, ‘I’m glad the rain won’t last.’

He’d nod his head

Then keep right on

Bothering his bacon

Spinning his spoon around

In his coffee cup

Probably wondering if he should have been

A sports reporter

One day he just stopped coming home

And I stopped trying to get him home

And after that I would only see him on tv

I’d sit in my old armchair

And listen to him drone on

About hurricanes that we were never gonna see

Blizzards that were gonna just miss us

Thunderstorms that would touch down for a moment

And then go right back up into the sky again

Nothing to worry about

Nothing to fear

We always knew where we stood

--With the weather at least

If you wanted to

You could go outside

Close your eyes

Hold your arms out

And count down to the exact moment

When the rain would hit you

And you’d feel that cool freshness

That used to be a surprise

Now it was like a present

You could give yourself

But while you were standing out there

Getting rained on

A part of you would say—

‘I’m not opening my eyes

‘Til I hear his car pull up

I’m not opening my eyes

‘Til I know he’s coming home’

And you’d be out there for awhile

In the rain

Waiting to hear those tires

Waiting to open your eyes

Waiting for the rain to stop

A minute earlier or later

Than it was supposed to

So you’d know that things could still happen another way

So you’d know that something unpredictable was still possible

Or you could stand there and hope

That a man who knows the rain

Doesn’t know himself

And that you don’t know him either

You’re standing there hoping

And getting wet

And right when the rain is supposed to stop

It does

And it surprises you

And it doesn’t

And it breaks your heart

All at the same time