08-003 Story: Ame to Namida.

Title: Ame to Namida. (Rain and tears)
Completed on: 20th May, 2008
Rating/Warnings : G
Word Count: 515

A very short story about the pain of longing in the midst of leaving.

“All the memories you threw away, I choose to gather…”

~Anonymous

As she mouthed her last goodbye to him, she stood by the bus stop and watched him as he walked away slowly. Each step he took brought him further away from her — from her side, and from her life. His figure diminished and blended in the grayness of the surroundings, that was fogged with the rain and the desolation it accompanied.

Perhaps, that would be the last time she would see him — his broad shoulders, his muscular frame, his tousled hair and his eyes that seemed to bore through her soul as if he understood everything about her. Faintly, she could descry the wail of a stray dog in the roars of thunder and a desperate cry of a dove. Are you mocking me? She asked the surroundings, somewhat wishing for a reply.

Perhaps, the next time she see him, they might be just strangers, brushing across each other’s shoulders in the busy streets; and their hectic life. Perhaps, he would not be him anymore. Perhaps, he might be imperceptible, aberrant too. Perhaps, she would be forgotten. The thought of her non-existence in his life brought a dull ache in her heart. What if that really happens?

She shook her head of all this thoughts and glanced up, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, yearning for him to reappear in front of her and hold her gently, telling her he is there. It was then, she realized that her hair was drenched and her face was wet. When did that happened? She questioned herself. She turned around and saw, in the distance, a building structure similar the bus stop that she bid him farewell. Suddenly, it dawned on her that her legs had taken over her subconscious mind and carried her towards him. The longing she felt was intangible and it manifested into a dam that threatened to break, releasing the tears. Did I cry? She touched her face and felt wetness. Her vision was blurry. Was it the rain, or my tears? Not that she cared anymore. Nobody could see her crying in the rain anyways.

The rain washed away the tears on her face, and fell down onto the ground. Washed away, just like the memories he threw away behind him — the gifts, the cards, the flowers. The shu cream puffs especially, the ones she made for him. He gave them back to her whole. Untouched and uneaten. She brought the petals of the withered flower and the particular card he gave her that was written with his beautiful words and bring them close to her heart. Her breaths came in hitches and chokes, of despair, of despondency. Her eyes, half closed, was misted with her tears.

“Everything beautiful has to end. Heavenly to tragic.” The words that appeared on the book that laid on the study desk, perhaps, hold true for her now.

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