Grayspace

HOURGLASS OF RAINDROPS

1:03 AM

I feel like the thunder is going to shatter my skull. The seconds between strikes are short and merciless.

2:21 AM

Heavy rainfall. That's nothing new. The thunder is over the horizon. Muffled. Like an angry parent on the other side of a locked door.

3:51 AM

Why am I still awake?

4:26 AM

I think I fell asleep for a few minutes. A strange blue corpselight picks out the world I'm trying to sleep away. The broken windows. The disfigured floorboards.

The rain has let up a bit. It's an irregular pitter like a novice drummer that isn't quite sure of himself.

5:13 AM

I'm flushed with adrenaline with a knock at the door. And she isn't knocking all that hard. It's less a testimony to her vigor and more a testimony to how I've kept up the place. Her slightest touch sets off an earthquake.

5:16 AM

Why is she knocking every 30 seconds?

6:22 AM

I fell asleep again. She's stopped knocking. But I hear her pacing outside. Her footsteps are irregular with the rainfall. I can almost hear her breathing. I know how she breathes. I memorized it like an algorithm with all the variables. When we're at the store. When we're at the doctor's office. When she's watching her favorite movie. When I'm planting kisses down her stomach.

11:47 AM

Birdsong. Though drops are still tapping out a dying rhythm.

2:26 PM

This is probably my first fully awake moment today. I see the skeletal boards leprous with moss and the burred, bent nails keeping them in place. I reach for the bottle and it's empty, unlike I remembered. I thought there was a drop or two left.

3:55 PM

The ground is coated with leaves. I don't remember when they started turning. Toadstools are peeking out, glossy in the occupying rain.

5:01 PM

There's a knock at the door again. I know who it is. Nobody else sounds like her.

7:22 PM

I let her in. She smells like wet leaves. She looks exactly the way I remember her, in the eyes. There's faint lines around the mouth. There's dark circles around the eyelids. There's a swollen regret around her like a cloud. But in the ink of her pupils, I see the person I remember.

8:37 PM

I've been stroking my fingers through her drenched hair. It's like seaweed. I don't care. Somewhere under all this is the woman I love. Under all the sweat, mire, and musk. The tears and psychological sediment. I hold her as best I know how. I feel the tremors in her chest as she sobs. I can't make out her words, but I know what she's saying. I feel her hot tears on my neck, even as I feel the cold rain on my shoulders. There's a rhythm in her shaking, her tremors.

11:23 PM

I must have fallen asleep again. I was sponging up her geyser of grief and just like that I'm on my own. Where did she go?

12:49 AM

She'll come back. I know she will.

3:03 AM

I can see the ground between the boards. It's a full moon. Dark, fertile granules with pebbles that wink gray like stars.

6:08 AM

I know she's coming back.

12:17 PM

I'm hungry. But I can't leave here. It would be just my luck that she stops by when I cut out for some food.

3:01 PM

Where is she?

4:26 PM

Another storm. The wind blew the door open. I thought it was her.

8:52 PM

Moonlight guttering between the thinning stormclouds. It glints off the leaves that blew in. They're still wet and glossy. A parody of the life they had while mounted on branches.

10:19 PM

I dug out the candle from our first kiss. Not much left of it. But there's still a wick and still some wax. The cobwebs crackled when I lit it.

11:19 PM

Where is she?

11:23 PM

Has she forgotten me?

12:48 AM

The rain has picked up again. One or two drops slip between the beams and strike between my feet. I absently massage the spent leaves with my toes. They're real and intact but shed from their purpose, physical ghosts.

2:07 AM

Did I fall asleep sitting up? I think I dreamed about the sound of the rain.

3:12 AM

Moonlight. Rain. Where is she?