elliem

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I joined on March 30th, 2020 :)

I'm happy to do reviews if anyone needs/wants one! I take time with and put thought into my reviews so keep in mind that they may take a while :)

A Letter to the Boy of Rain (revised)

July 8, 2020

You
Monday, July 6th, 2020

    Dear You,

    It was as the rain rolled down my bedroom window this morning that I thought of you. Though it may sound cliché, I miss your stormy rainclouds. Oh, they used to fill my mind with tickling fingers and chilly, sweet storms. How your eyes would coat my throat with thick fog.

    Really, though, my brain became a network of dilapidated buildings choked with ivy as I abandoned all sense and threw myself into the summer storm. For you, of course. Always, for you. I didn't give a thought to the freezing rain slapping my face or the harsh wind kissing my red cheeks. My coat with the fur-lined hood sat impatiently inside. I didn't care.
    
    I fell back in the rain, imagining you lying there with me. Remember that monsoon last summer? The one where all the drains clogged and water flooded the streets, destroying my front garden? We made boats from cardboard boxes and paddles from empty glass bottles, and oh, did those ever fail. Fell apart under the weight of two teenagers and threatening rainwater and broken promises. Just like me. Isn't that funny? Still, I did it for you. Always, for you, You.

     Ink coats my hands as I write this letter, wondering if you'll ever reply. That is, assuming you read this, and the letter got delivered, and I decided to send it in the first place. Maybe I'll just crumple this up and feed it to the flames. Fire would probably appreciate my writing more, anyway. Fire eats paper up with a satisfying crackle. Rain only washes it away.

    If you couldn't already tell, it reminds me of you. The rain, I mean. Don't ask me why. Maybe it's the way you used to get those sudden mood switches, and nobody knew how to calm you down. You'd sprinkle us with affectionate showers then trap us in your lightning, and all we could do was pray for it to be over. I still loved you. Always, for you.

    Last Sunday, I finished that poetry book you wrote. I sat in that abandoned church we liked to visit. Cold crept up my legs, whispering against my neck. The floor, scattered with rotten leaves, danced in saturated reds and blues and yellows from the stained glass windows. The crepuscular rays of late afternoon played tricks across the pages, igniting your delicate words. If I could write like that, maybe things would be better. Maybe I would know not to write an entire letter to you. Oh, I'm an idiot sometimes. For you, of course.
   
    That giddy, childlike happiness I always felt around you--I realized it's only deception. A distortion of reality, a rippled reflection in the leftover puddles down the lane. Maybe I was just dreaming of you again, and finally recognized that that's all the person I thought you were is: a good dream. Nothing more.

    You’re really a nightmare, by the way.

    If I had read your book earlier, I might have known what you were trying to tell me that day last spring. Maybe things would have ended differently. I didn't know you felt like that. You still felt like that. Maybe we're not so different, after all.

    You said life was tightening around your ribcage and squeezing, and I get that. You said broken hearts aren't meant to mend, which is why yours is still in fragments in a puddle outside. Mine's floating out there somewhere, too. Bound to wash away. Never to be retrieved. Right? Was it wrong that I wanted to go outside and collect the pieces?

    Maybe.

    I'd still do it for you. Always, for you.

    When this is all over, can I hold your hand again? No. I know. It's dumb to ask. "When this is all over", like it will ever end. Maybe we can begin a letter correspondence, send rainwater words by pigeon like we're from the medieval times. Wouldn't that be lovely?

    I feel as though I'm always apologizing to you. Sometimes, for you. Always, for you.

    Everything without you feels fictional, even if you were the most fantastical of all. I think that's why I was so drawn to you. And you liked me back because of my dusty freckles and faded overalls and the way I could pick out the real ones from a crowd of fakers. And you could pick me up and throw me over your shoulder and I'd scream and you'd smile and we'd spend the rest of the day laughing about it.

     Please don't be mad at me for this letter. I only mean to tell you how much I miss you, You. I've spent a long time thinking about writing this, and eventually I decided it should be okay.

    "Okay". What a funny word. One that means so much, when really it means nothing at all. It doesn't even exist. I think you were the one who told me that.

    Now, you must excuse me, because my throat is tight and my hands are shaking and I must send this letter before I explode. I have to gather up the nerve. Months after our argument, and I'm still terrified to send you a letter through post. I know that would make you laugh. I'd laugh too. Can we laugh together again soon?
    
    With love,

    Me
Words: 893

I would love some feedback or a review if anyone would be willing to give it! I've worked super hard on this and I really want to do well. :)

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7 Comments
  • nanalanii

    I had a bittersweet smile on my face the whole time I was reading this; these are absolutely beautiful words <3


    5 months ago
  • chrysanthemums&ink

    what the heck. i'm actually speechless because wow. my chest kinda hurts good after reading this. i probably can't properly give you an actually comment right now, but know that i think this is going to do extremely well in the competition. going to reread <333


    5 months ago
  • Sydney Fessenden

    I've never been in love, but this poem somehow gives me a startling glimpse of what it must feel like. Beautiful.


    5 months ago
  • Currently Unavailable

    Replying: That’s really nice of you! I’m glad you like the series! :)


    5 months ago
  • batman_is_a_cracker

    Chapter 12 of The Illusion Of Control is all published (because I lack self-control).
    https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/177957/version/355535


    5 months ago
  • outoftheblue

    "Okay". What a funny word. One that means so much, when really it means nothing at all. It doesn't even exist. I think you were the one who told me that." Ellie, I truly have no words. You have articulated feelings of loss, love and deep longing so emotionally here.


    5 months ago
  • Anne Blackwood

    I um wow words haha great yeah


    5 months ago