Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head.

So I was driving home a little while ago as usual, listening to the radio and trying not to hydroplane. It’s raining, obviously. So anyways, the DJ made some remark about the way people in NY drive in the rain, a d that it’s almost as bad as the first snowfall and how people drive like they’ve never driven in snow before. No offense to my fellow new Yorkers or northerners (is that even a word, hmm), but the guy has a point. I’ve lived here my entire life and even I have to admit that driving in the first few rain showers or snow takes a little getting used to each year. It’s kind of like getting your “land-legs” back after you’ve been on a boat for a while. Okay, not the best metaphor, but you get the point. Anyways, back to the rain. Rain, rain, rain. Don’t ask me why, but I absolutely just LOVE the rain. I really do. Whether it’s just a light mist or a torrential downpour (like it is outside right now)– I love every kind. If I had to choose, I’d say that I’m partial to the down pouring kind. Rain, wind, thunder, and lightning–I love it. It’s like it has its own energy, you know? Or that’s how it seems to me at least. Sometimes I’ll just open a window or walk outside in a storm and just close my eyes and feel it. The mist on my skin, the rain pouring down and the wind whipping my hair out of sorts–it’s amazing. Maybe I’m crazy, but it’s so peaceful and tranquil and at the same time it’s raw fury and pure chaos. I know, I know. I’m a sap and a dork and probably half a dozen other things, but I don’t care. I love love love rain.

Alas, my focal point of today’s post isn’t to go on and on about my love of weather. Almost, but not quite. Rain is part of it, though. Rain and memory lane, that is. Some of my best and worst memories are associated, in some part, with rain. True story. Even HIM. That first night, it was raining. Sounds sappy, right? Yeah, I know. But it was. It’s weird what you remember about certain things, moments that changed your life forever. Like that night. Like the rain. Maybe I have it all backwards. Maybe the rain is a sign or something, a warning to turn and run like hell. Of impending doom. Maybe. I guess that’s just another item I can add to my list of “things to figure out”, who knows. I can’t help what I remember though. And I obviously have no control over the weather, so whatever. It was raining and it was perfect. At least that night. It was before all the lies and shame and fighting–before reality swooped in and destroyed it all. If nothing else, at least I’ll always have that night. Laying in the grass, under a blanket of stars and the dark of night…me, him…and the rain. The most amazing night of my life, and also the worst.

Like a lot of things in life, nothing ever quite lives up to the first times, or the first moments. That’s just how it is. Not that we don’t try to prove that untrue. We try. We try as hard as we can and if we’re lucky, we come close. But we never get all of it. We can never recreate those moments, not exactly. Strange how that is, isn’t it? It’s hard though. Memories. Moments. Looking back. It’s taken me a long time to like the rain again. It’s bittersweet. At first, after things fell apart, I hated the rain. Hated it. I hated what it symbolized and the memories it brought back. Of him. Mostly, I think I just hated the feelings that came with it, feelings I wanted more than anything to just erase and forget. Logically, I know it’s not the rain. The rain doesn’t really even have anything to do with it. It’s me. My pain, my guilt, and the shame I still feel because of what happened.

I know that I have to face what’s been done. To deal with it and move on. And I’m trying to do that. Honestly, I am. But it’s not as easy as people think or how I thought it would be. It’s so very hard. And it hurts. Sometimes I don’t know what hurts more, remembering or wanting to forget. I’m not sure if that even makes sense. I mean, sure, the memories are always going to bring along with them the hurt. But it’s the forgetting part that seems the hardest. In some strange sense, I feel like I’m doing something wrong by wanting to let things go. Guilty for wanting to move on. It’s crazy, right? I mean, he has, so why can’t I? Why do I feel like I’m giving up, like I’m giving in and taking the easy way out? Why can’t I forget and move on like he has? Why can’t I pretend and act as if nothing ever happened? I want to be happy, too. I want to move on, write him off like he did me, and just let him and all of it go. Is that so wrong? God knows I’ve done my share of suffering from this, from the fallout. I’ve accepted my dues, and I’ve taken responsibility for my actions, my share of the blame. I’ve made sacrifices, lost more than anyone knows, more than they will ever know. I deserve a break. A reprieve. I deserve get on with my life. At least I think I have.

But no matter what I do, it just gets harder and harder. People are making it more complicated, why can’t they see that? Especially recently. With the talk and the emails and the drama. I can’t get away from it, no matter how far I run or how far I go. When is it going to be enough? I’ve pushed people away, I’ve lost friends because of this, I’ve lost myself…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Sometimes, I really think that it’s not going to be enough for them, for the world, until I’ve lost everything. And that’s not fair. I’m sorry, but it’s not. I screwed up. I get that. I admit it. But do I really deserve to pay for that one mistake the rest of my life? Because if so, then I’m not doing it. I won’t do it. I’m sick of being reminded of it all the time. If it’s not one thing, it’s something else. It’s some sarcastic, offhand remark. The mention of his name. It’s driving and somehow ending up at a place we went to on his lunch break. It’s everything. That place, our spot–even that isn’t the same anymore. I went there yesterday. I was driving and I know it sounds stupid and pathetic, but I just sort of ended up there. I don’t know why, but one minute I was driving and the next minute I was getting out of the car there. I can’t say why exactly, but I just started crying and couldn’t stop. Maybe it was the memories of that place, I don’t know. Maybe because, looking around, I realized how much the place had changed. Or maybe it just seems like that to me, not having been there in so long. It’s weird, but it seems like a whole lifetime has passed since I was there last. With him. It was a beautiful spot. Nowhere in particular, just this secluded area in an open field in the country. It used to be pretty and warm and quiet. And now it’s just cold. Not because of the weather or the temperature though. I can’t really explain it. It just felt so cold. It’s still quiet, only not in the peaceful, serene way that I remember. No, quiet like dead. The silence deafening and scary. I don’t know how long I cried for, just standing there. It hurt. So much. Because not even the pretty memories can make up for what has been lost, or how much everything has changed. It’s all gone now. It’s just another random spot on some back road in the country that once was beautiful. A place that holds too many bittersweet and painful memories. A place that no matter what happens from here on out, will never be the same. The circle of life, I guess you might call it. Or a step towards letting go and moving on. Taking back control and accepting what cannot be changed. Or maybe it’s a bittersweet kind of ending. A goodbye, of sorts…

And all because of a little rain….



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