Should I continue?

The drizzle picked up, I was still a good half an hour away from home. "Good job on driving to work today pal", I patted myself on the back. And then she flashed through my thoughts. Oh, how I hated that feeling. It started in my guts and rose up to my throat, it seemed to stop my heart on the way, my lungs felt like they were collapsing from the sheer weight of my shoulders. I switched lanes, No use dying in the fast lane on a Friday night. Bad Karma, I believed in it. That feeling kept building; it shot past my throat and went straight to my head. I felt my brain turn to stew, my head was going to explode, my ears were burning, and her name escaped my lips. I drew in a large breath, and then I sighed.
I kept driving, paying attention to the road ahead. I tried not to think of anything. But she was in my thoughts, her face, her eyes, her smell, her smile and I felt myself smiling. I couldn't help it, that smile it made me calm down, it emptied me of everything, and yet I could live on nothing but that smile itself; her smile how I longed for it. I yearned for it, every morning I woke up with the thought of seeing that smile again.
I had calmed down, the storm was approaching, but I was going to beat it home. I was thinking would I ever tell her, and if I did what would I say. There was a song on the radio it made sense to me:
I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of?
I'm afraid that I'm not sure of
A love there is no cure for
I think I love you.................................

Believe me; you really don’t have to worry
I only want to make you happy
And if you say "Hey! Go away” I will
But I think I better still
I'd better stay around and love you
Do you think I have a case?
Let me ask to your face
Do you think you love me?
I laughed. I laughed so heartily, I hadn't laughed like that for a long time. Those lyrics, those words, they seemed to have my thoughts set in tune. Oh how I wished she were there with me.
What was I going to do? Tell her? No, I didn't know what happens after that. If I had a case well then I would dance and flip and be a complete maniac. All my fears, my confounding self-deliberations that last for days at a time would end. Oh! Peace, Oh! Serenity, Oh! Love be mine, be mine. But then what if it wasn't to be. Would I just stop? Could I stop? Was there a cure for this sickness that I had succumbed to? I did not know and that annoyed me even more than the fact that I didn't really have a case to help win her over.
I was after all nothing more than a simple peasant with a few good tastes; she on the other hand was a princess. Her beauty, her grace, her persona, they were all perfect. How dare I compare myself to her, I was a monster to look at, and humour was the only card I held. I had learnt young to laugh at myself and to laugh at life as it were.
I reached home just as the storm hit. I closed my door and sighed at the thought of the dreary weekend ahead. My weekends were lifeless; they were like a river run dry in the summer. And the desolate landscape of my room did not help in the slightest, a bed and a window that looked out to a wall was not the most inspiring backdrop. I lay down on my bed and gazed at the ceiling, lightning lit up the whole room, and the crash of thunder was drowned by the crash of cascading rain on my metal roof. I looked outside, the twilight was quickly fading, and being replaced by a salmon sky, the lightning was now distant and the rain made a translucent curtain between my window and brown wall it overlooked. I disregarded the fleeting thought of making myself dinner. I listened to the rain, it was strangely calming. My bed was warm and the roof above me did not leak, and the thought of not being stranded in the rain gave me a little hope for the weekend. I loved the rain, with its terrific lightning and booming crashes of thunder, it took me back to a place in my childhood. Sitting at home, listening to grandpa's war stories, and watching the stew slowly simmering on the kerosene stove, now none of that world existed. In its place lay the everyday humdrum of adulthood along with its rat race and many prerogative vices.
The darkness around kept growing and the ceiling was slowly disappearing from my view in its place I could see the fuzzy picture of the road that ran outside the window of my room from my childhood. The rain was pelting down, it was the peak of the monsoon season, and schools had been closed till the storm had passed. The traffic on the road was slow, the rainwater drains were not coping with the volume of precipitation and flooding, the little streams were now turning into gurgling rivers, and the number of paper boats floating downstream had suddenly doubled. I ran down the stairs, grabbing one of my old notebooks with me, I was going to join the fun and command my own fleet of paper ships. I was half way down the stairs when the power cut, I reached the bottom, and I could hear what sounded like a waterfall in the kitchen. The whole house was in darkness and all I could see were dampened shadows of the furniture and the dull reflection of the glassware on my grandmother's china hutch. I could hear my grandfather's voice booming in the kitchen, my eyes had grown accustomed to the dark and I moved in the direction of his voice. I inched my way across the dining room and turned the corner to find my grandparents standing together with the biggest grimaces they could wear. I looked in the direction they were looking at, and I saw the light.
It was coming through a hole in the rainwater piping that was coming down from the terrace, the top of the pipe had burst and the water was falling a good ten feet on to the cemented floor below. The kitchen was in the eastern wing of the house, and was connected to the dinning room and the front veranda by a passage; we chose to call the veranda as well. The water was rising quickly and would soon flood the kitchen, I looked at my grandpa, he could fix this, he always did. He walked towards the water, it was scary to a six year old, but certainly not a world war two veteran. He waded in the water, the broken spout gushed water on to his head and his shoulders, his white hair was now flat against his scalp and he was completely drenched. He opened up the rainwater drain cover and let the water run out, then he looked up at me and behind his thick black rimmed glasses I could see it begin. Then almost in an instant his face broken into a hundred different lines as his weather beaten skin wrinkled to form a wry smile, I smiled back. I didn’t think much of it then, but now world weary myself I think perhaps it caused some meagre satisfaction in his old age to have saved the day, and be looked upon with such awe by his grandson.
The rain continued for what seemed like the rest of the weekend, either that was the truth or the excuse for my laundry still sitting in a heap in the corner of my bathroom. Nevertheless, it was a weekend I was going to remember for a long time, not because of the storm, but what had occurred on Sunday evening. The worst of the storm had passed and I decided to venture down to the local shops. I was hoping to find some dinner and stock up on some groceries that I could use during the week. I walked past a few diners on Queen Street; many of the usually bustling venues were dead with many of the patrons choosing to stay in from the rains. Some of the restaurants, were only half lit, such was the depressing state of affairs after the storm. Perhaps I was the only person on the street with a smile on my face. I had now walked in excess of four kilometres from my home and my appetite was now past the point of ravenous. I was just trying to make up my mind on where I should go for dinner, perhaps a steak dinner at the local bar, or something from the array of Asian cuisines on offer along the length of High street.