It was raining. It always rained. But only on me. Only in my mind and before my eyes and from my eyes. I saw the rain, I made the rain, and I drown in the rain. I was the rain.
And she was the sun. She came to dry the rain and save everyone else. Some days she would help me– but most days she killed me. I begged and pleaded for her to die. I wished she would burn out. I never asked to be destroyed.
But it would stop me. And I would think...maybe being consumed by her wouldnt be a bad thing. I wouldn’t freeze to death. I would go out in flames– swallowed whole by the warmth. I– in some way– craved that warmth as I let it burn me. Destory me.
She would always say stupid things to me.
The worst of things.
She would say “Please smile, even if you have to fake it into being real.”
I didn’t need her help. But I would smile. My mouth would move before I had asked it to. It would make me fear the future. Fear the realm of that I could not control. But I did foresee the rain from fear; And so it rained.
Being the sun, she would see the flood. She would feel it cooling down the earth and suffocating the others who dwell here. And to me she would come. She would wrap me in her warmth and say:
“Don’t feel this way.
Don’t care what others think of you–
because what they think means nothing.
At the end of the day only you will be with you.
So be happy to be happy.”
I would lash at the sun and tell her to leave me. I would douse her in the liquid ice of my soul and shun her from the sky. I didn’t need to care what others thought, and I didn’t anyway. I needed myself? No. I didn’t need myself, I just needed to breath. I could do away with my mirror-shattering face or my less than dirt personality and be who I am– as long as I breathed. As long as I kept my head above water.
But I didn’t.
I felt most comfortable where my feet could touch the ground. I felt most comfortable at the bottom where it was safe– where it was familiar. I felt most comfortable surrounded by the chilled product of my head. Under the water is where I belonged.
But then she came.
Her heat would take away my blanket of depth. Her rays would strip away at me until I burned. Until I ached. Until my body had no choice but to be consumed by the flames. Engulfed in something that I didn’t– and couldn’t, nor would I ever– understand. I let the light lavish me in the light. I let my heart be torn apart by the searing blood which flowed through it. I was exposed. I was out in the open being burned by the sun– and I didn’t mind.
I almost felt guilty. I was the only part most admired by her. In all her beauty she found me loathing in my filth– yet she stayed. In the damp marsh I flourished in, she would stay. She added the missing part to life– the heat, the light. She let things grow; the same things that I would have killed. I didn’t mind the new life– in that moment.
I found things didn’t live long without the sun. They died in my hands. They went out with laughter and names. And so, once more, it rained. But it poured. It didn’t stop. One flood after another until it was all over. The water flooded the land trying to reach the sky. And the water turned red but it kept pouring and flooding and drowning everything out it kept going knowing-hoping the sun wouldn’t return.
And she didn’t.
And so it rained.
And she didn’t come.
It poured.
It flooded.
The sun burned out.
She was no more.
The sun, the very light and warmth in everything, burned out. The note said:
“It’s not fair that I burn to light everyone, when no one burned for me.”
And so it rained in the darkness.