Tears, raindrops, angels

Pouring rain, you watch it as it falls from the sky.

Angels' tears in the shape of little raindrops. Angels' tears, tears like yours.

Tears fall from Heaven as raindrops fall from your eyes and stream down your beautiful face; after all, those raindrops that fall from Heaven are nothing but what human beings call tears when they cloud their gazes. Tears like yours. Raindrops like those that are wetting your cheeks right now.

Rain is pouring outside that apartment you could never - and would never - call your home. Home, for you, is where he is, and by your side he is not anymore. He's never lived in this apartment, which has never been his home, which has never been a place he could call his own. A foot of his has never been set in here, this place has never belonged to him, and so you cannot call it your home.

This, this is just somewhere to stay, it's just a heartless apartment you live in because after you left him you needed to put a roof above your head. But this, this is not home. This will never be home.

Home is where he is, and you don't know where he is now. You don't know if there is a roof above his head just like there is one above yours, and that thought alone is enough to eat at you to the point you think it is going to end up killing you. Not knowing who he is with, not knowing how he is, not knowing if he is somewhere safe, that lack of knowledge is devouring you from the inside out.

You left him. You had to. Because watching as he killed himself using alcohol as a very silent but effective weapon was something you couldn't bare. Because being shouted out by him was something you could not bare either. The guilt, the despair, feeling useless because nothing you did was good enough to drag him out the hole he had hidden away from the world – and from you – inside after he was released from prison, those were things you tried to deal with but found yourself not sufficiently expert to control, and not having in your hands the power to control them was driving you crazy, killing you too.

You had to leave. He left you no option. Hadn't you done so, had you stayed, you would have only stayed to watch him die in the arms of alcohol, you would have only stayed just to later follow his own steps, totally unable to go on with your life knowing he had ended his.

You left because you thought that was what he needed: some time alone, some space, and some closure. You thought he needed to leave the past behind, forget about you, forget about what had happened. After all, you are the reason why his life became the hell it was last time you saw him five months ago. You are the reason why he was willing to give up twenty years of his life. You are the reason why his future shattered. Everything ended up messy and screwed for him because of you, because of what he did to save you, because he was selfish enough to choose you over the country and its safety, because he was selfish enough to decide that the lives of thousands were nothing compared with a lifetime without you.

A lifetime in prison was better than a lifetime as a free man but without you, that was what he told you plenty of times when you visited him while he was in jail. Or at least those were the words he constantly repeated to you during your first visits, before he started shouting you out.

You left because you thought having you there crying your eyes out every single night only would make things worse for him. You left because you thought you were in no position to help him. You left because you thought he resented you for what had happened. You left because you thought he would get better if you did, you thought things would get better for him if he didn't have to put up with the constant reminder of why he had had to go through a trial and be treated as a traitor. You left because you thought he didn't need or want to continue from where you had left off before he was taken away: you thought he needed to start over new. And you loved him – you still love him – so much you couldn't just stay out of selfishness and not give him that chance.

He had saved your life, and because of that now his was ruined. Maybe if you left, you thought, the shattered pieces could be put back together and he would be able to move on.

You had to leave.

And now, now, five months later, you don't know where he is. You don't know how he is. You don't know who he is with. You don't know if there is a roof above his head tonight.

Pouring rain falls from the start: angels are crying desperately, mercilessly. And so are you.

You are looking out the window as rain falls, trying to concentrate on the sound of raindrops hitting the ground, trying not to listen to the sound of your own tears as they stream down your wet, reddish face.

It is raining in your eyes too. It's raining harder than ever. It's been raining in your eyes ever since he was taken away from you. And you don't know when or if this rain is ever going to stop.

So on nights like this, when angels cry and cry, you sit and look out the window as they do, you sit and look out the window as it pours in your eyes.

You ignore your own tears with the same intensity you try to ignore memories of him, memories of better times, memories of the life and happiness you two had and shared together during those wonderful three years. You ignore your tears and focus on the rain instead. You ignore your tears and focus on angels' tears; you focus on the pouring rain.

But your attempts don't work. They are completely useless, your attempts. So after a long, filled with nothing but sadness, guilt and raw desperation day you sit there, looking at the window, starting at the dark, clouded sky and the raindrops falling from it and think of him. You think of the happiness and meaning he brought into your life, you think of the happiness and meaning your 'life' – if you can call it that – lacks of now that you are not longer together. You think of the lonely years you have ahead as tears stream down your face with the force and fierceness of a flood.

Suddenly, when you less expect it, your mind is assaulted by a thought: maybe these angels' tears falling from the dark, clouded skies are for the two of you and your love, this love that refuses to die, this love that will always be with you because you have been marked with it ever since the moment you first felt it burning in your heart, this love that even if so difficulty still breathes, this love that will stay alive for as long as you live.

Your mind is – all of a sudden – being wandered by the thought that maybe wherever it is that he is now, he is contemplating the rain as it pours too, missing you as madly as you miss him, wishing you were there and beaten by the idea that maybe it is true that when a flood is so powerful and so intense like this one it means a crowd of angels is crying.

As you drift off to sleep, you wonder if he is already asleep. You wonder if tonight he fell asleep thinking of you. You wonder if he ever thinks of you or if you were right to think he needed to leave you behind and start to forget. You wonder if his face is as reddish and as wet as yours is tonight. You wonder if he is convinced too that this pouring rain means there are angels crying for the two of you and your love. The brief second of consciousness before dreamland opens its door for you, you wonder if – in the case that he does cry for you – his tears are as bitter and as intense as yours.