As I stand before your grave, reflecting on all the cherished moments we shared, a hollow ache gnaws at my chest. If only I could rewind time—just one year is all I would need to alter our destinies, to unravel the threads that led to this desolate end. The cold, biting rain conceals the streams of tears racing down my cheeks, yet I know it cannot hide the grief that burns in my eyes each time I gaze at your tombstone, its etched words blurred by the downpour and my own unraveling heart. My face stings, skin flushed raw from the frigid wind that howls through this Melbourne graveyard, a restless spirit in its own right. I've lost track of how long I've been here, lost in these futile thoughts, asking myself pointless questions that echo unanswered in the void you left behind.
My hair darkens so much when it's soaked; instead of blonde, I appear brunette, a shadow of myself. You used to remind me every time we were caught in the rain how much you adored the way it looked, your voice soft, your gentle eyes alight with warmth. Now, everything brings you to mind—even the rain, relentless and mocking, whispers memories of you. It still hurts, a quiet, searing pain, but I find solace in how I remember you, all the joy you brought into my life; your memory will be treasured forever, a fragile light in this darkness. Now I must live with the knowledge that I will spend the rest of my life without you. The first person I ever lost should not have been you—why you, of all souls, in a world so vast?
Darkness envelops me, but it is merely the shadow cast by the black umbrella shielding me, its fabric trembling in the gusts. I long to be in the rain, to feel its icy needles pierce my skin, to wash away this numbness. My fingers, stiff and clumsy from the cold, ache with a fury I can't unleash—angry, yet unable to make a fist. Even the weather seems to mock me; why is it cold and raining when the sun is shining? This Melbourne weather, unpredictable as fate, taunts me. Light keeps breaking through the grey sky, splitting the clouds in jagged shards, yet no matter how much sunshine pierces the heavens, I can still smell the rain, heavy with the scent of earth and loss. A distant rumble rolls across the horizon—storm or warning, I cannot tell. Something lingers here, unspoken, buried beneath this sodden ground, and I wonder if the truth, like the rain, will one day seep to the surface. Depressed I stand, knowing no matter how much sunshine pierces the sky, I will still smell the rain.
In Tender Memory of a Rose, Too Radiant for This Shadowed Realm, Beloved Daughter, Cherished Friend, and Eternal Angel
2004 - 2025
Gone from Sight, Yet Bound by Secrets Unspoken
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