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lgbtqsteph-blog · 7 years

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Stormy Day Thoughts.

There were no streetlights along these backroads, the only thing illuminating the early morning gloom were the two shining spots coming from our headlights. It was dark enough that the only way I knew it was raining was from the pitter patter on the windows and the glowing droplets as they fell into our headlights line of light. My mother hates it when it rains like this, she finds it depressing. I guess one of the perks of being in my state of mind is that I can appreciate the true beauty that is a stormy day, the outside finally matches my inside. The grey skies are my haven, soft and dark, cool and wet. It’s the only time where I can truly escape my mind, I can project my thoughts onto the clouds and watch them fall with the rain. The thunder resonates deep within my being, vibrating my soul, the lightning strikes energy throughout my body. The shadows of the clouds cast the world in a dark filter; every bright tree muted to a deep evergreen, blue eyes are now slate grey, and its absolutely stunning. It’s me.

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lgbtqsteph-blog · 7 years

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And we just sat there, listening to the rain pour down on the tin roofs above us. Feeling the drops on our ankles while we sat on the the curb of some run down smokey gas station. There was nothing else but the sound of the rain, her slow steady breaths and those radiant green eyes illuminating her face. It was at that moment that I realized that nothing else mattered. That everything was now in the past; old and irrelevant. I could finally just sit and listen to our hearts beating in harmony to the rains tinkling melody. I’m not sure how long we sat there, or if we even spoke a word. All that mattered was that our hearts were in tune with one another once again.

She resounded with every fiber of my being, the memory of her and how she tore me down to the frame and rebuilt everything, every aspect of who I am. And how I love her for it. She could do anything, shatter your heart into a million shards and somehow in a split second stitch piece back into its place and make your love only grow stronger. She was my moon that illuminated the night, the stars that glittered in my eyes, she was my everything. I suppose I was blind, that I didn’t ever see what she was doing to me or how I came out today. And I still don’t know how I feel about being new and different. Should I be offended that she took down what I had created and somehow made it a thousand times better? She made me better. She made me. Without her I wasn’t a thing that could have ever mattered, she made me useful, I finally had a purpose.

I still to this day wished that I knew why she loved me. Perhaps I was a project to her, or maybe she actually felt the same fiery connection with me as I did her. I like to think that that’s why she chose me, though I’m still not sure.

Regardless I loved her and she loved me. Thats how it was, that was us, just together living off the energy we created. The spontaneous midnight car rides to desolate places just to watch the stars and wait for the sun to rise again. The bonfires on the beach and the sparklers we chased each other with on that hot July night. These too were cherished memories that I had burned into my mind forever. With her laugh set on replay, watching her dance and sing along to the car radio. I loved her with everything I had and she loved me back.

It was the best year of my life, and thats the one thing that I’m sure of.

She was too beautiful to not photograph. She simply glowed on camera, her essence always accurately captured in each frame and flash.

The pictures are the hardest to look at. It feels just like shes there with me helping me pick out our favorites. On her birthday I bought her a Polaroid and we spent the whole day running around taking pictures. That was a good day, she smiled so much, I don’t think I’ve ever heard her laugh as much as she did that birthday.

Over the next few months we took so many pictures on that tiny camera, I have every single one in a box under the foot of my bed. Those months were the best months, she grew more comfortable in her own skin. With every flash I felt as if she were giving me a special piece of her for me to keep forever.

I took pictures of her eyes and her face, her full rosy lips which were often chapped. I took pictures of her while she cooked, picked out her clothes, anything where I wished time would stop so I could fully savor the moment, when she let her guard down. Those made the best pictures, because inside that tiny frame time was frozen in that beautiful place. I could go back and hold onto that moment. I could hold that memory as I used to hold her.

Those pictures comfort me, but they bring so much pain and and remorse with the comfort. Every beautiful moment we shared captured in a thousand pictures that mean so much more to me than and words ever could.

Looking at those photos that I kept hidden made everything about me and her seem perfect, it captured all the good. She took the photos that captured the bad, and God do I wish I had those too.

Too often I catch myself sitting by the foot of my bed, digging through those beautiful pictures, longing to feel something again, to feel her presence, her love, to maybe hear an echo of her laugh on her 16th birthday, or a whisper of her singing. I miss her, I miss everything about her just as I love everything about her.

Maybe I should have burned those pictures the day she left, but I didn’t. So here I am paralyzed in the moments encapsulated in every single frame.

- s.n.

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