It is raining, plucking at the roof like a harp, somber yet sweet. You lay awake, watching as lightning traces the shadows of the trees across your ceiling. Her breathing hitches as her body stirs, her eyes snapping open as thunder roars across your world.
"It is raining."
At first you're not sure who spoke, the whisper taken with the sound of water smashing onto the earth, whisked away by the breaths of winds. You look at her, bathed in seconds of light. She watches the window, counting down the time between the strike and the thunder. The storm is right on top of you.
You want to tell her something, anything at all to erase the deafening of the violence outside. But the words do not come out, your throat too scratched and unused to form sound.
"It is raining," she says again.
There is a quiver in her voice and a sadness in her eyes that remind you of the day you met her. A cafe not far from your work, heavy air, and two cups of coffee gone cold. She was beautiful that day, sitting alone and watching the world pass her by. You were always the type to take action before thought, but for once, you thought you'd stop to take in the scenery. If only because she was too.
"It is raining."
There's tears on her cheeks, like the whole world was going to end because a little water fell from the sky. You want to reach out, to hold her, to comfort her, but your hands falter, the space between you and her is wide. You'd been distant lately, consumed with aiming for that promotion. Then, as soon as you got it, another goal took your mind. Perhaps you should respond, but things have been so tense these last few years, edges were frayed and fights were only a few words away.
You wonder what she's thinking about. Was it a memory of your first date, where you took her to a movie only for the projector to stop working? Or your wedding day when the skies grew dark and smothered you in rain? You smile at the memory, her beautiful outdoor wedding ruined in the blink of an eye. She cried about it then, all her planning gone to waste. You stomped right back out into the cold, shivering in your shoes, dragging her behind you. You married her in that rain and both had a cold over the whole honeymoon.
"It is raining."
You think to bring it up, the memories that fly through your mind, but she feels so far. What do you even say?
"I love you," you say softly. How long had it been since you last said it? The fights and the yelling and the grudges were all the communication you'd have for the past eleven years. After that was the silence, the business like formality that grew in the wake of exhaustion.
Your fingers touch her, raking through her hair and coasting down her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," you say, feeling guilty for neglecting her, for considering something more important than her.
She cries, louder than she ever had and you pull her close. "It's raining," she sobs.
The lightning lights up the room, and you remember every reason you love her. This, this is the moment you decide to rethink everything, to reevaluate everything you have. Because if you ever lay through another storm like that without her warming the bed beside you, it is not worth it.
So you comfort her, you hold her, and you remind her of every moment that you fell deeper in love with her. And by the time you're done telling her everything you love about her, twenty years have passed and you're standing at her grave with flowers in your hand, waiting for the storm to pass, one last time.
(I made myself cry ༼ಢ_ಢ༽ )