Remembering The Rain
It's raining today, the storm clouds fumbling in the distance and the sky dark, cloudy and grey, the lighting warning all those that venture outside to retreat, a warning most people would listen to, but not her. It was raining when she left, how ironic that it ended on a dark and stormy night. She always had a flair for the dramatic. It was my fault I told her I would love her forever and I would never betray her; but the minute our love was challenged I gave in and threw in the towel all for a love I thought had vanished and died a long time ago or so I thought. She told me she would stay and fight and that she would never give up on me, I scoffed and I pushed her aside and ran to the one I thought more deserving of my love, my one love, my true love- I thought. I remember going to the cabin where my true love was waiting in front of the fireplace silently, "Brenda", I said and she turned around slowly as if she could not believe that I had actually come to her, "Jax", she said breathlessly and then as if my limbs had a mind of their own because, I don't remember moving, I was in her waiting arms. Then I kissed her. I felt her breath against my neck and my body and mind swirled with desire, and we made love, slow passionate burning love, which seemed, at times, that I had died, but had not gone to heaven. I kept pretending I was with Skye and kept wishing when I opened my eyes it would be Skye's eyes I would be looking into. Afterwards, Brenda laid in the arms that were aching for my wife and I looked at her and she looked at me, both realizing that this was the end for us that this night would be our farewell. I got up slowly, trying to think of ways to explain what happened to my wife, my real and forever love, of how this night had finally brought closure to that chapter in my life and that I was ready to start a new one with her. I knew I would take an eternity for her to trust me again, but I could wait. I leaned down and gave the slumbering woman a goodbye kiss and began to dress. I heard her then, she cried out my name, I heard the pain and anguish in her voice and the disappointment and anger in her the way she said my name. When she saw that I had heard her she took off running into the night and I was behind her screaming for her to stop, please "Skye, please stop, I love you, please, stop, wait". The next thing I heard was the screeching of tires and her final scream of pain and horror. Blood was everywhere, were there sirens too, and the police and her family and confusion. What happened, they kept asking, and I could not say, I could not speak the words, the only thing I could say, the only thing I could think was - it was all my fault, I did this. She died that night, she was hit, will ironies never cease, by a drunk driver and Skye herself was sober. Did she do it on purpose in a misguided suicide attempt or was it truly and accident I will never know. It's been a year now since she died, and it's raining again, as if the world was crying for the woman that was lost, my love that was lost. I'm ready to leave now too. I close my eyes; the feeling of contentment washes over in waves as I relax, I put the whisky glass down and picked up the pills and swallow them-all twenty-two of them. And then I wait for the inevitable and for the joy because, I know she waits for me, I hear her voice calling me to her, we will be together again. Isn't it funny how it always rains at the end?
The End
It's raining today, the storm clouds fumbling in the distance and the sky dark, cloudy and grey, the lighting warning all those that venture outside to retreat, a warning most people would listen to, but not her. It was raining when she left, how ironic that it ended on a dark and stormy night. She always had a flair for the dramatic. It was my fault I told her I would love her forever and I would never betray her; but the minute our love was challenged I gave in and threw in the towel all for a love I thought had vanished and died a long time ago or so I thought. She told me she would stay and fight and that she would never give up on me, I scoffed and I pushed her aside and ran to the one I thought more deserving of my love, my one love, my true love- I thought. I remember going to the cabin where my true love was waiting in front of the fireplace silently, "Brenda", I said and she turned around slowly as if she could not believe that I had actually come to her, "Jax", she said breathlessly and then as if my limbs had a mind of their own because, I don't remember moving, I was in her waiting arms. Then I kissed her. I felt her breath against my neck and my body and mind swirled with desire, and we made love, slow passionate burning love, which seemed, at times, that I had died, but had not gone to heaven. I kept pretending I was with Skye and kept wishing when I opened my eyes it would be Skye's eyes I would be looking into. Afterwards, Brenda laid in the arms that were aching for my wife and I looked at her and she looked at me, both realizing that this was the end for us that this night would be our farewell. I got up slowly, trying to think of ways to explain what happened to my wife, my real and forever love, of how this night had finally brought closure to that chapter in my life and that I was ready to start a new one with her. I knew I would take an eternity for her to trust me again, but I could wait. I leaned down and gave the slumbering woman a goodbye kiss and began to dress. I heard her then, she cried out my name, I heard the pain and anguish in her voice and the disappointment and anger in her the way she said my name. When she saw that I had heard her she took off running into the night and I was behind her screaming for her to stop, please "Skye, please stop, I love you, please, stop, wait". The next thing I heard was the screeching of tires and her final scream of pain and horror. Blood was everywhere, were there sirens too, and the police and her family and confusion. What happened, they kept asking, and I could not say, I could not speak the words, the only thing I could say, the only thing I could think was - it was all my fault, I did this. She died that night, she was hit, will ironies never cease, by a drunk driver and Skye herself was sober. Did she do it on purpose in a misguided suicide attempt or was it truly and accident I will never know. It's been a year now since she died, and it's raining again, as if the world was crying for the woman that was lost, my love that was lost. I'm ready to leave now too. I close my eyes; the feeling of contentment washes over in waves as I relax, I put the whisky glass down and picked up the pills and swallow them-all twenty-two of them. And then I wait for the inevitable and for the joy because, I know she waits for me, I hear her voice calling me to her, we will be together again. Isn't it funny how it always rains at the end?
The End