Rain of You
A prose poetry piece.
I was riding a jeep, seated beside the chauffeur.
Rain. It was raining.
Since it was a jeep, it had open windows; next to me was a front seat with no doors nor windows. To fully experience the best space in the jeepney, I stepped out my right leg on the little edge of the jeepney. So the droplets were sticking into my legs, like a tear falling on my knees and below. Then, the front window of the jeep was a little — bit blurred, like an unfocused vision of a camera; a vision of a half blinded person.
It was you, whom I remembered.
It was raining, when the first time I come to your house. I recall, you challenged me to guess which house it was, while walking on the street filled with vehicles parked at the side walks, but failed to notice your 4th floor home with an orange furnished and a coconut tree on top.
As the water droplets pulled by gravity, as the cumulous clouds start to spark with thunders, as the noise of the engine by the jeep keeps on interrupting my silent grieving, it felt that the scenery at that time took me back to where we had started; as friends; as close, close, friends. The rain had linked us, again.
It was raining, you were raining.
You always rain into my head. Most of the moments, where I simply read books and browse on the internet, or somehow spacing out in my room, you would eventually pop out in my head, with the memories we had, which we failed to create more.
Before, you are a so-called sunshine. Not the sun that dries the hanged clothes in someone’s backyard, but the sunshine that dries the watery eyes caused by melancholia.
But right now, you are just a pure rain. Rain. Not sunshine with a crown of happiness. Just, pure, rain.
I wish you could be my sunshine all over again.
But that is selfishness, I know. I tend to be selfish, or rather — we. When we lose sight of someone; of their laughing and weeping, we have this intimate reason for you to pull them back; A continuous voice, telling you, “Pull. Pull. Pull.”
Plus, you don’t want to. You gave up. You quit on continuing our story. The ending then is, I am now the only one continuing our — my story that reeks of uncorrupted memories. So this weather within my heart will always be clouded by you, until this rain will become a storm, which will take a serious damage on me.
However, don’t you remember? Every storm has an end.
Stop raining on me.
