Looking out to sea as dark clouds scud inland I know I’m walking a fine line. I’m trying to open myself up to adult human emotions, and at the same time mourn the end of us without being overwhelmed by that exquisite sense of loss.

In a lifetime spent chemically detached from any real emotion I have utterly dulled my ability to feel – to transmute love, happiness, death and loss into a sentiment. I can know we are over, but I cannot feel it.

The wind whips at me as I consider the gaping wound you used to occupy. Your laugh. The feeling of your skin on mine. That smile…all our little intimate moments, when I would touch you just there and you would respond just so…and my breath catches in my throat. I cough and choke.

“Oh God! Where are you..?!” I yell inside my head. I can’t…I can’t breathe! My legs buckle and I fall to my knees, hands clawing at the rough sand…the pain!

I try scream my loss at the world but the wind and pain silence me. I’m desperate for the tears to wash you away in a flood I want to drown in…but they don’t come, those tears. They never do.

Cold rain stings my cheeks, each frozen drop punishing me on the outside for the dearth of emotion I foster on the inside. Each drop scorning as it tears down my face, crying out “You will feel what it is to weep! You will feel the sting of tears, where tears refuse to flow! Can you feel?! DO YOU FEEL?!”

DO YOU FEEL?!

No! No…I…won’t.

…stop…

…breathe…

…breathe again… calm…and cold quiet comes over me.

Foolish! This is not a ‘moment’ about you. This is not and will never be about you.

This is about me.

This is a walk in the rain.

That’s all it is. 

© Dave Luis 2015. All Rights Reserved.

Image by Patryk Sobczak at unsplash free images

This blog is part of a series of tandem blogs written by Mandy Collins and myself. One topic – two writers and two different takes. We don’t review each other’s work before publishing, and so each piece as a superb surprise for both of us. Read Mandy’s blog here.

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14 thoughts on “A Walk In The Rain

  1. The most painful and yet powerful lesson learned during addiction: my relationship with you has nothing to do with you. It’s all on me; all up to me. As with most things, so bittersweet; so scary, yet empowering. Thanks for the reminder, Dave.

    1. Thank you so much! This was a stunning piece to write, especially since it has so much of my personal reality woven into the piece.
      Thank you for you compliments – comments are the gold in a blogger’s life!

  2. I don’t even know what to say… Where do I start, I had secretly wished this piece would end in your tears rather than mine!

    I have but a glimpse of what this person meant to you and an even smaller idea of what the pain could possibly be like.

    I want to run to you now and scream cry, dammit let it out. Just let out – just let go it’s ok. I, friend am I here to wipe them away. To offer a warm embrace to utter useless words like it’ll be ok and time heals all pain and you already got through this you just need to realize and release it!

    Instead….. I sit here wondering if that will never happen, if that day will never come!? Regardless of the result to have come this far is a great achievement in and on itself, there’s still much work ahead and maybe just maybe one day I’ll get the chance to be your support, to be your shoulder.

    Until that day I’m forever walking on this road with you, hidden sometimes but never gone. Go forth and find healing, find comfort and find closure…..

    1. I have so many words to respond to you, Ryan. I have revelations and thanks and just being in gob-smacked awe at what you have written. I will rather send these in a private message.

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