Rain

He awoke to the sound of the rain beating down on his roof and against his window.

He sat up in his bed and closed his eyes and let the sound resonate in his head.

It was the sound of thousands of tiny hands slapping angrily throughout the night.

He walked to the window and watched the drops of rain explode against the glass.

He could see the lights of the city forming kaleidoscope images through beads of water.

He walked towards the door and with some hesitation opened it to the storm.

He looked up towards the fierce black clouds and began to walk out into the downpour.

He stood under the rain as the drops pelted his bare chest and face.

He lifted his head towards the sky as to welcome the worst it had to offer.

The drops of rain fell unrelentingly like tiny pebbles being flung from above.

He raised his arms to the sky opening himself up to the punishing beating.

He hoped the rain would wash away the sins of his life and create a new beginning.

He felt each drop had the opportunity to provide change in his life in the world.

He hoped that these drops could provide the same alleviation to the sadness.

He stood beneath the falling rain for what seemed to be an eternity.

He continued to stand there as if expecting some sign of forgiveness or respite.

None came to him, and he could no longer tell where the rain ended and his tears began.

He brought his hands to his face and lowered his head as he began to weep.

He clung to the hopes the skies would open and he would get what he was desperate for.

He knew he was likely to continue his life never having the forgiveness he sought after.

Yet he felt entitled to it and he felt entitled to the feeling of accepted atonement.

He turned back to his door and continued to sulk as he moved slowly towards it.

He walked to his room and sought the warm confines of his sheets and bed.

He closed his eyes and tried to make peace with the fact his hopes weren’t answered.

He drifted back to sleep with tears still in his eyes as he had every other time it rained.

Silouhette

He sat there somberly, watching her silhouette grow fainter as she walked away. He wasn’t quite sure what she was thinking or feeling. He was completely unaware as to the expression on her face as she turned and walked on.

Perhaps she did it intentionally, not glancing back that is. Maybe as to spare his heart from the questions of “What if”, or maybe the anguish of a truly knowing. Or maybe she did not want him to ever know. Knowing this was easier for her than he believed. Either way, he was thankful she spared him in such a way.

She would, in this way, remain forever his. As the immortal embrace of Romeo and his Juliet. He would pay tribute to her with no end. Flecks of her unblemished porcelain skin would line the pages he would lay words to. Strands of her hair would be the pen he would clutch as the same words coursed feverishly through his hand. The blood that flowed through his veins that carried her to his heart and to his existence would be the ink that would eternally immortalized her.

She would always continue to be his, along with the memories, as long as his lungs drew breathe. He could never give his muse up. He would more so give up his life than to give up the singular most greatest and prolific love and inspiration of his life. He looked up and noticed her silhouette had completely faded by now.

He felt his eyes well with tears of anguish and tournament, and then an uncontrollable laughter erupted from within. He was utterly baffled as to where this was originating from. He had just witnessed his everything disappear before his very eyes. He realized then the laughter was coming from the sentiments of the joys of knowing her. The tranquility he felt of being in her arms. The serenity and ease his mind felt as he counted each of her lashes as she slept. The passion of tracing her curves and dedicating them to memory, to later explore them again and again, as if finding something new each time. The creativity that flowed through his hands as he sat and gazed upon her beauty and the words that came to be, almost as lovely as her. The love that so many strive for and so many more perish without knowing, he had been fortunate enough to have experienced.

All though shorter than the dawn, it was never bitter and he knew then he had become more of a man and a better one for it. He picked up his journal and tucked it under his arm, and the laughter slipped away between sighs, and wiping the tears from his cheeks, he began to walk away slowly. Gazing down the path they had many times strolled hand in hand, he put his lips together and began to whistle a familiar melody. It was the same melody that had started it all, and with that he became a silhouette that soon came to fade.