It rained the day you left

 

It rained the day you left.

 

It was a normal Thursday evening.

We sat on the couch, my body laid across yours, your hands intertwined with mine. You’d not long finished work and I’d prepared a meal for us. We had eaten and migrated to the couch. You were laughing at an old tv show playing. Then you turnt to me and kissed me on the forehead and smiled. Your eyes so full of love.

It rained the day you left.

 

I made you breakfast this morning. It was your favourite, toast cut into squares with mini sausages, eggs and beans. Sometimes I forget you’re a 27 year old man. Just makes me love you more. We ate across from each other, your eyes shining with adoration over the rim of your glass. You’d finished, picked up your briefcase, kissed me goodbye and told me you’d see me later.

 

It rained the day you left.

 

You arrived home later than usual. Your shoulders hunched, like it had been a stressful day. I greeted you at the door as always, you tried to smile but it came out as more of a grimace. I’d asked you how your day was and you said fine. What you’d really meant is “it was hard but I don’t want to talk about it.” I told you to go have a shower whilst I set the table. You disappeared without a second glance. Tonight the mood was different. There was no laughter, no jokes about how much of a wanker your boss is. No goofy faces. No funny stories about you pranking your best friend. Nothing. Your face stayed straight. Your eyes, usually a vibrant green, now lifeless and murky, like a cold grimey swamp you’d find around a pond. You left the table, your dinner half eaten, claiming you were tired and you were going to bed.

 

It rained the day you left.

 

I remained downstairs and tried to busy myself, willing myself to not follow you straight away. I succeeded in cleaning the kitchen before my legs carried me up to the bedroom without a second thought. I found you with your back towards the door face in your hands. I whispered your name and tiptoed towards you, careful not to startle you. The second I got closer to you, you grabbed me and buried your face in my stomach. You were crying, but it sounded so different. It sounded like you were in pain, like you were hurting. At the time I didn’t understand over what. What could possibly be causing you so much pain. You pulled me onto the bed and just laid sobbing into me. I stayed quiet, my t shirt absorbing the tears that just kept flowing. He was mumbling words, but all I could really make out was “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

 

It rained the day you left

 

I felt a light touch on my cheek, slowly stroking up and down. I scrunched my nose up willing for the feeling to go away so I could drift back to sleep. The touch continued and I eventually opened my eyes. I found you staring at me, your hand being the culprit to the strokes. I frowned and looked over your shoulder at the clock. Big red numbers shining back 1:47AM.  I looked back at him, his hair all dishevelled, his eyes, dark, tired. I tried to speak but the sleepiness in me still hadn’t left properly. He smiled and leaned forward to kiss me. The kiss was slow, delicate, passionate, Lazy. It felt like unspoken words that set my heart beating a little faster than usual. It felt a little too off but my sleepy brain couldn’t quite make out what was happening. He smiled at me again but this time it seemed sad. His eyes, cloudy. They skirted around my face never settling on one thing for too long. Like he was trying to drink in the sight. I battled with sleep, my eyes trying to force themselves back shut. “Go to sleep my love” he tells me. The last thing I remember is  a choked intake of breath as he tells me he loves me.

 

It rained the day you left

 

I blinked my eyes open. The once usually bright room had been painted in dark grey colours. The clouds looked angry. I stretched and just laid still for a moment. The house was silent. I looked over to my left to see you. The space was empty. My eyes took notice to the time. 7:31AM . Unusual for you to be up earlier than me on a Saturday morning. I shook off the weird feeling and decided to get up. I’ve always been the early bird, you hated me for it but you also loved me for it. I made my way downstairs. The house felt too cold. Like the usual warmth had been drained from it. The clouds outside looking angrier by the second, waiting to burst any minute. Something was not right. I looked in the living room for you first. Maybe you’d woken early and decided to watch tv and fell asleep. Empty. I then checked Outside in the yard. I know how you like to drink your coffee and inhale fresh air. Empty. My heart slowly started to beat faster. I checked the kitchen. Empty. The bathroom. Empty. I checked every room we had until I decided to go into your office. It was stripped bare. The only thing remaining, a sticky note stuck on the far wall. “I’m so sorry” it read. At that moment the clouds broke loose and the sky finally Began to cry.

 

It rained the day you left.

 

It’s our anniversary today. 7 years it would’ve been. You left me 732 days ago. My therapist tells me I need to move on. She says this isn’t healthy. What does she know.  She doesn’t know the way you liked your eggs. She doesn’t know the way you’d pretend to be tough but cry at sad films with me. She doesn’t know the way your eyes would light up when we’d go for date nights and I’d dress up for you. She doesn’t know the way we made love and we’d stay cuddled up for hours after telling silly stories to each other, each one wilder than the last. She doesn’t know how when it would thunderstorm and pour with rain you’d drag me outside and spin me around and around laughing with such joy in your throat. I’d never seen you look so happy. She doesn’t know how when my family dog died you’d driven 6 hours to get a special portrait painted for me. She doesn’t know how much you loved me. But you left. You left. All these unanswered questions I have that I can’t let go. Someone asked me the other day what my favourite type of weather is. I couldn’t answer them because I didn’t know. But now sitting here listening to the rain plummet down again, I know the answer. You loved the rain. You split my heart into pieces, and I’m still here struggling to glue them back together. But you loved the rain. So I love it too.

 

It rained the day you left.