The rain kept falling. Fallen glass that shatter and melt on the ground is what it looks like. The tears of angels from the darkened sky above might be what it could be. I love the rain but sometimes it makes me feel lonely.
The rain got heavier as I breathed out, warming my lips as the white vapour fade into the plain and boring background of my home. This house my brother left me is filled with nothing. It is white and lonely. The pale is the colour of my skin, the empty is the space in my heart. The only place I love is the low bookshelf where I sit and watch the rain. The little droplets ski and slide across the window glass until they reach the end of the journey, then they disappear and their life close curtains. Some stop for a moment and move on while some dash their way to the finishing line, scurrying along the transparent barrier between them and myself. Where are they rushing to? There are a few that trickle down slowly then stop and never moved. What are they afraid of? Only if another raindrop crashes into the motionless one or else, it will never move again. Most of the time, they just disappear in the light the next day.
The muffled splashes of water drowned all other surroundings except itself. I smell nothing, I taste nothing, I feel nothing, but rain. My clothes, they stain of mud. My hair, they smell of fallen leaves. My hands, they shiver cold. My lips, they quiver, I have no idea why. My eyes, they blur. My tongue, it tastes salty, warm water.
This umbrella.
There it lies, right beside the door. It looks abandoned and lonely. Carelessly untied, it sprawls on the white tiled floor. The wooden handle has cracks and lines like wrinkles. The colour lost its beam. It seems to be telling me, "I'm lonely, don't leave me here." So old and worn out, nobody would want this umbrella.
I don't want you either.
That year, you were alone. You said your world was raining. You sat on the bench under the big willow tree, the drizzle made you the lead role in an old faded film. My eyes saw nothing else in this black and white film you play in. Every nook and corner was pale and lifeless, only one spot was coloured. That was you. So brightly in my eyes, I could picture the dazzling splotch of orange reflected in my eyes. Everywhere you go, I seemed to follow. Quietly, unnoticeably, I treaded along the path where you had set foot on like a fanatical bee tracing the fragrance of a White Cone Flower. You gave me the luxury and privilege of settling in your affection. I indulged myself in the soul-stealing aroma you emitted. I rested; relying on you and staying by your side all the while your world was enduring tears from above. I settled in the corner of your heart, cowering in your warmth while I went through the falling tears with you. All this while, I didn't notice my wings had already vanished. I didn't need them anymore because I don't need to fly.
I had you.
That day you told me our love has ended, "Let's move on together." What you wanted to but didn't told, was you don't love me anymore and what you want me to do was to walk in a different direction, away from you. I am now a hindrance. Your lips are bandages, and at the same time, knives. Beating around the bush and offering me sweet talks while you carved deep, bloody scars in my pride. My body remembers each and every scar born that day in this absence of heat the rain washed away.
I felt like an abandoned umbrella. I had shielded you from the harsh rain and piercing winds; I had stopped them all. But now your sun is back, you need me no more. I lie torn and tattered. Who needs me when there is breeze and beautiful sunshine?
Oh, my wings. I strain my neck and look back to remember that I have no more wings. I have lost ability of flight. Now tell me, how am I supposed to fly once more when I have no wings, not anymore? I landed in your welcoming palm and let my wings go with the wind. I never knew you would leave me. Lost, I am lost.
Do I wait for you, for you to remember the promise you pledged to me? You held my hand that day and gave your word to me. This lovely memory I still keep it locked in the deepest edge of my feeble heart.
Silly me, I must have mistook the one in your eyes for myself.
How shameless of me to think so highly of myself.
How shameless of you to think so highly of yourself.
Agony and anger burns within me. Rippling waves are vibrating through my skin. I feel no need to play the pathetic and pitiable role in your monopolizing movie anymore. I feel no need to play this forgotten role in the dusty nook of your life. This black and white film, I will let in burn in my pain and let it fall as ashes. Your lousy movie pays no revenue and brings no audience. Let it disappear.
I'll write my own story.
This umbrella you gave me, I throw it out into the gushing wind and battering rain.