Lentil Soup

It rained today. I had my purple jacket on again, but this time I had my hood up. It blocked my peripheral vision. I tried to see how the rain made things brighter. I waited to receive something, some light; I kept my hood up.
I burned some lentil stew. I'm in the library and I smell like it.
She is mad at me, now. And I know why. I knew I wouldn't be able to focus on finals anymore. So that's why I left and walked up to the library. It was speedy. I don't stretch anymore so my legs started to tighten going up the hill. I'd do yoga, but then I would see her and she would be more mad, and I have finals.
As I all but ran into the library, I realized that half of me was ahead of myself again like when it rained last time. My mind was screaming: stop, slow down, wait a sec.
I walked into the library.
I turned around and walked back out.
My mind was far ahead of my body again, but it was turning around to tell my body to slow down and stop. Maybe I'd get further if I tried to reel it in instead of chase it this time.
I walked into the square between the sky lights above the library. I stepped in every puddle. The raindrops formed little tear drops, little balls of light hanging off the benches. I wanted to sit, but I didn't want my bum to be wet. The steps behind me died off and held back. I was happy. I didn't want him there right then. I needed space and breathing room.
I appreciated he recognized it.
The light reminded me of the mountains in the winter: when the sun shone through the helicopter whirly-birds in the trees. But, those are memories for another time. Well, no; they'll probably just stay as memories. But they were definitely a time of enlightenment. Either way I guess the rain brought light again, just different than what I thought I needed. This time it reflected movement and the absence and importance of that absence as well.
I tried to listen to each puddle as I stepped. Breathe it all in. Breathe it all out. I realized the birds were singing. I stopped.  They were coming from behind me on the left. Breathe it all in. Breathe it all out.
I looked at the red and green of the bushes in front of me. Breath it all in. Breathe it all out. I looked at the distorted cloud reflections in the tall windows. Breathe it all in. There was snow in the mountains to the right. Out.
Listen. In. Look. Out.
In.
Out.
My mind's not quite back, but it's not shuddering in the wind and churning in the air. In. I have the string, the kite is in sight, my feet are grounded, out, the string is tight and I'm controlling the movement better and I'm more aware of the wind.
I'm ready. Steps fall back in line with mine In. But I still smell like burned lentil soup. Out.
I open the door to the library. In. Questions come. Out. I wrap my string up. In.
Where do you put a kite? Breathe it all out.
It's ok; I don't need it inside.