Digging into my memory bank, I could find quite many bittersweet reminisences.
You are one of them.
Here, I could recall that day.
It was a thundery day. The sky was purple.
The clouds were crying.
When we’re hiding from the rain under a ripped ugly umbrella.
Suddenly you gently touched my hand and said, “I just farted.”
“Why are you telling me that?” I asked, somehow couldn’t process your information.
Responding to my question, You came near to me and whispered,
“Because you said you’re afraid of the thunder.”
I didn’t get it, “yes. So?”
“Well, don’t be. That’s not the thunder.” You explained more.
I stuttered as I realized, “Holy cow! that was your fart?
You shyly shook your head. Smiling with a blushing cheek.
I tried not to, but I failed to hold my laughter.
That was hilarious,
and when a thunder roared once more just after that, I asked,
“Is that you? Again?”
You pinched my hand, “of course no!”
And we spent the time guessing whether it’s the real thunder or your fart.
I still love to remember that.
Besides it was comedic, I realized.
You and your fart, had made me forget that I am afraid of the thunder.
Because ever since, each time I hear a thunder,
I remember how you were telling me that it’s your fart.
And the thunder doesn’t seem to be scary anymore.
Thank you, You.
You’ve farted away my fear.