Fresh 5 Writing Contest : The Rain Behind My Sunshine

As I walked to my favorite spot, a random thought ran through my mind,
"the hardest part of loving someone is when you lose them." Sharper than any blade, truer than true.
"I think I've been there before, honestly still is. Only, I'm a little more deeper in it now."

I draped the embroidered lace fabric mom gave me before I departed for my favorite part of the hill. I looked around and took a deep breathe like I can inhale everything my eyes behold before I laid my back down feeling a slight prick of heat on my back.

I've hated beauty and every nice thing I could but, I still managed to smile. As I welcomed how the heat touches my skin, I remember my random thought.

Loving. Losing. Because I lost someone I loved I also lost something about what I used to love. I tried to remember how I ended up cooling my head under the sun when I used to prance and dance my heart out under the rain.

Now I stopped loving the rain. I'll stop running under it. I will feel the cold and realize that nothing falls without making a sound. I will stop hearing raindrops as nature's healing sound. Every drop, every vibration and every plop that it makes. It will remind me of how it made a sound for the drops that landed on my sheets and the ones that dried on my pillow. I will feel the cold, the coldness that I made as an excuse to slump up, curl up, hide my face and cover myself from everything. Like its the pure reason that made me hide from something and not to protect myself from pain. Pain that no amount or layers of cloth can actually protect me from, or warm me rather. Warm me from the cold cold truth that my problem isn't around me but beneath me. Seeping in, beating, controlling the spine I can't straighten up anymore, and it's pumping under my skin.

As I'll feel the cold, I'll be expecting something to get broken. Remembering that broken plate my too shaky hands didn't get a good grip of. Just like how my heart broke for not being able to shake everything out of my system that cold rainy day. I'll close every window and shut the door. I can't let the rain in, shouldn't have let you in. I will light up the fireplace.

Oh, I remember that being the excuse for burning every letter I got. Oh those words, they were beautiful and so was the fire. Like there was something in those ink and sheets that danced for the last time before me. Hey I laughed, like a lunatic looking at the flames thinking maybe I need a fire inside me. And so I did, burned every memory, every word, every butterfly, every promise inside of me. That fire barely started but it did, and I felt it, but it never warmed my heart. Broken glasses melt on fire, my heart was in pieces, the last thing it needs is melting.

So maybe that's why the fire I started within me turned it cold, hoping to freeze the pieces. Doesn't matter if it's together or not, but just to save the pieces. Just to save it. Again the cold. That was pretty funny thinking my fire turned something cold, so I laughed.

And I'll stay under the sun, wrapped only in my so called protection, feeling my skin warm up whenever I feel sad and cold and empty, or when the rain has stopped and Im not looking out through the window. It will be a struggle, figuring why I ended in such a state when I remember how much I laughed under the rain. How I wanted every drop on my skin and how much I jumped when I wasn't running or turning around and around and around.

And I'll stay longer under the rays, or scoot closer to the fireplace and remember that's exactly why Im in here. I went out for the dangerous fun my dear mother warned me about, I connected to something my brave father sheltered me from. I'll go back to my room, wrap another layer of protection around me, cause that cold realization was making its way through again.

Sometimes no amount of sunshine can par up to the cold my flaming pain had given me, so whenever I'll feel that cold and I hear that rain pour down, I'll be wrapped in the thickest protection hugging myself. And it will be a routine, or maybe a reaction, an instinct. Shrinks call it PTSD, I think those who are like me call it breaking.

And it shall continue, the window scenes will get easier, the prickling hot leaves against my skin will warm me up someday somehow, and I might even forget why I dont like the rain or that I even loved it with every bit of me at all. And I'll be under a shield whenever I have to pass through it, merely thinking I can't get wet. No to rain. And I won't even remember I went through a phase of it. And I really do hope that happens, cause that will mean I made it through. For now, I'll get my daily dose of sunshine.