Missing You Is Like Rain
Sometimes, I feel like I don’t miss you, but I think it’s only because I don’t remember what I’m missing.
Missing you is like rain; I remember the feeling of the splashes on my skin, the look of the droplets as they trickle down my window, the sound of the pitter-patter on the roof. But if the rain hasn’t come for quite some time, like all unused memories, the thought of you stores itself deep in my mind.
It’s not that I don’t remember you, not at all. You’re a permanent fixture in my thoughts, whether it be conscious or not. In fact, the problem with your permanence in the back of my mind is that whenever I see your face, hear or read your name, or even come across something that remotely reminds me of you — like a song on the radio, or someone with a similar build and haircut — all my feelings and thoughts about you come to the surface, and I drown in them.
The feeling of missing you begins again, like the arrival of another typhoon, only in my head. I know it’ll pass eventually, like it always does. I tell myself that it’s just another passing storm. But some times last longer than others, like a seemingly endless season brought about by the monsoon.
It goes away, always goes away, just as you do. I try to find time to recover from the torrent of emotions, and wonder why the showers you bring seem to have all-too-familiar taste of tears. But the thing with weather is that it is uncontrollable. It’s sometimes predictable, which is why when another typhoon comes, I’m not completely surprised — but that doesn’t mean that the effect changes. I still feel everything I wished I could avoid, despite thinking that I should be used to it by now.
When it begins as a thought, it’s passive. There’s still a chance — however slight — of a quick recovery. But when it’s no longer in my head and you are here, everything is awakened. When you in front of me once again and you say my name with a smile before wrapping your arms around me, there is warmth amidst the downpour.
Warmth is deceiving, treacherous. In warmth there is hope, care, and even the hint of a promise of something more. I end up wanting to believe that your warmth means you care about me, that in your embrace, there is the slightest whisper of requited love. I take in every bit of sunshine that I can, because I want to believe in whatever fleeting hope is in my favor.
But then you leave, and so does the sun and all its empty promises. I am alone with only my thoughts of you, and I find that I am unprepared for these heavy rains yet again.
I don’t always miss you. It doesn’t always rain when you are not around. But heavy rains can bring destruction. Sometimes, the damage can never be fully repaired.