'Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby,' - Langston Hughes.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
__________
IT COMES AS A WHISPER.
'O Vision of the Night.'
I close my eyes welcoming the drops that fall from the greying sky. Seeking refuge in the rain, I allow myself the small lie that says the wetness are not truly from my own heartache.
'O Vision of the Night.'
I keep my eyes closed, reaching out with my hearing to let the music of the falling raindrops soothe my soul. The thrumming of the drops as they fall on the leaves of the surroundings trees falls in harmony with the drumming that beats on the roof of our small cottage.
'Give Us Strength for Us to bear.'
My hands fall limb into my lap and I sit back in the middle of our gardening patch, the herbs' flowery scents intensifying before washing out altogether in dirt and dampness.
The rainy tune is small, almost mute, but still its energy is like a promise to the world - A wish of reassurance in a greying world. The gentle wash of rain is just that, a nudge of nurture, ensuring us that the grey isn't just that - dark, dull and without hope for tomorrow.
'And leave Thy Guidance for Us to hear.'
I feel the ground moisten under my touch, and let my fingers dig deeper into the cooling earth while tilting my head backwards.
'O Mighty of the Night.'
The rain persistently pushes at my fluttering eyelids, coaxing me to embrace them and a small smile ghosts my lips by the caress.
'Spare Thy Power so We do not fear.'
My fingers fold themselves over my stomach, and my bottom lip captures itself in my teeth by the unpleasant feeling that runs through it, causing my brows to furrow in puzzlement.
'And I give You My Heart to spear.'
Then I finally open my eyes to watch my dirty hands. Black indifferent spots disguise the lines as much as their frailness, and I realize what I have been doing is the same.
Slowly, I look at the garden I haven't left since day break. The fresh herbs show traits of health which I have gladly given, and I realize the insight I have recently become blind to.
If I could carry the world to save Xavier from burying himself in his torments I would gladly endure it, however me staying here is not a testament to that. In fact me being here shows sign of the opposite, and that breaks me even more than my nightmares.
