Status: Fin. Finito. Terminado. Termine.
Its Raining Again
One of One
Its raining again.
And then I can’t look at you. And I can’t cry though the tears are falling on the inside. And I keep making mistakes as I try to leave myself. Tripping over the stained tan carpet as I make my way from that leather couch to the window seat. I look out through the condensation and rolling raindrops that decorate the glass.
And that’s when I see you.
Your reflection staring back at me. Just a shadow from my memory with soft lips, such familiar contours. And its enough to bring everything back. I can hear your voice saying things like, “Do you want me to pick up milk on my way home from picking up Amy?” You love your little sister like a father loves his daughter, but I guess that’s what you are to her anyway. Other times, when you’d walk through the door after leaving Amy with her school friends, such things would leave that pretty mouth of yours, “If you give me one of your famous back rubs I’ll cook dinner…and then you can pick what we do before bed.” And always with that stunning smile on your face.
And now I can feel you.
The scent of your cologne mingled with the soap from the shower you took that morning, the smell invades my senses making me forget exactly how to breath. But only for a moment. Then you’d unbutton your dress shirt, today’s color is black, and let it slip from your shoulders and land on the ground beside the couch. My fingers caress the smooth skin of your back as I absorb each contended sigh your release. For a back massage I could get you to do almost anything, like braid Amy’s hair because I woke up late and needed to make breakfast. And always you’d simply flash me a knowing smile and often times a wink before sauntering off to do what I asked.
And now its almost real.
All of this is overwhelming me. I thought I’d almost forgotten you, at least that’s what I’d hoped for. Because it hurts me, like I’m the crystal glass filled with blood red wine and then I’m falling from my pedestal; breaking into a thousand, razor sharp pieces as the darkest contents of my veins forever stains the cream carpet of my heart. Poetic are I not? You always said I was when I would talk about my passions. You are one of my deepest passions. But back to being overwhelmed. By the way its as if I can see you staring back at me from the rain smattered glass. By the way that your voice is all I can hear in this silver silence. By the way that your touch, your scent, your very essence are all I can feel, smell, taste, know.
And now I’m crying. Finally.
Not again, damn it not again. Its always a relief and a burden at the same time. Always relieved because it means I can still feel, even if its deep down underneath the ice. Always a burden because I never know how long or how much; sometimes minutes, others hours, frequently just silent, watery traitors and occasionally heart wrenching sobs. This time it will be silent. I think I’ve almost shed my last tear, isn’t there a limit to how many one person can?
And now I’m here.
The tears didn’t stop as I slipped on the converse and black hoodie that sit by the door. They didn’t stop as my feet carried me down familiar sidewalks. No, they were only joined by the raindrops that fell in that familiar steady rhythm that you hear when the sky decides to cry. Wet and cold. Converse smack the wet sidewalk and rain already starts to soak through my sweatshirt. Yet I’m not cold. I’d think it were strange, but then again I’m never warm either. Not anymore, not without you. The hood doesn’t prevent my hair from dripping water onto my equally soaked tee shirt. But none of this matters because now I’m here. In front of a slab of grey granite that reads nothing more than,
Cherished Son & Brother,
Beloved Lover
‘Each tear you shed is for yourself.’
And now the sky is calm.
And then I prayed for rain.
And then I can’t look at you. And I can’t cry though the tears are falling on the inside. And I keep making mistakes as I try to leave myself. Tripping over the stained tan carpet as I make my way from that leather couch to the window seat. I look out through the condensation and rolling raindrops that decorate the glass.
And that’s when I see you.
Your reflection staring back at me. Just a shadow from my memory with soft lips, such familiar contours. And its enough to bring everything back. I can hear your voice saying things like, “Do you want me to pick up milk on my way home from picking up Amy?” You love your little sister like a father loves his daughter, but I guess that’s what you are to her anyway. Other times, when you’d walk through the door after leaving Amy with her school friends, such things would leave that pretty mouth of yours, “If you give me one of your famous back rubs I’ll cook dinner…and then you can pick what we do before bed.” And always with that stunning smile on your face.
And now I can feel you.
The scent of your cologne mingled with the soap from the shower you took that morning, the smell invades my senses making me forget exactly how to breath. But only for a moment. Then you’d unbutton your dress shirt, today’s color is black, and let it slip from your shoulders and land on the ground beside the couch. My fingers caress the smooth skin of your back as I absorb each contended sigh your release. For a back massage I could get you to do almost anything, like braid Amy’s hair because I woke up late and needed to make breakfast. And always you’d simply flash me a knowing smile and often times a wink before sauntering off to do what I asked.
And now its almost real.
All of this is overwhelming me. I thought I’d almost forgotten you, at least that’s what I’d hoped for. Because it hurts me, like I’m the crystal glass filled with blood red wine and then I’m falling from my pedestal; breaking into a thousand, razor sharp pieces as the darkest contents of my veins forever stains the cream carpet of my heart. Poetic are I not? You always said I was when I would talk about my passions. You are one of my deepest passions. But back to being overwhelmed. By the way its as if I can see you staring back at me from the rain smattered glass. By the way that your voice is all I can hear in this silver silence. By the way that your touch, your scent, your very essence are all I can feel, smell, taste, know.
And now I’m crying. Finally.
Not again, damn it not again. Its always a relief and a burden at the same time. Always relieved because it means I can still feel, even if its deep down underneath the ice. Always a burden because I never know how long or how much; sometimes minutes, others hours, frequently just silent, watery traitors and occasionally heart wrenching sobs. This time it will be silent. I think I’ve almost shed my last tear, isn’t there a limit to how many one person can?
And now I’m here.
The tears didn’t stop as I slipped on the converse and black hoodie that sit by the door. They didn’t stop as my feet carried me down familiar sidewalks. No, they were only joined by the raindrops that fell in that familiar steady rhythm that you hear when the sky decides to cry. Wet and cold. Converse smack the wet sidewalk and rain already starts to soak through my sweatshirt. Yet I’m not cold. I’d think it were strange, but then again I’m never warm either. Not anymore, not without you. The hood doesn’t prevent my hair from dripping water onto my equally soaked tee shirt. But none of this matters because now I’m here. In front of a slab of grey granite that reads nothing more than,
Cherished Son & Brother,
Beloved Lover
‘Each tear you shed is for yourself.’
And now the sky is calm.
And then I prayed for rain.