Whispers and Promises

Of Whispers and Rain

It was raining again. She hadn't truly listened to the sound in decades. 

The drizzle was dull as it hit the window pane. The sound breathing life into the memories she had long put to rest, stirring them awake. Her eyes were fixed on the window as she sat up in her bed to watch, the sound seeping into her room. 

It was the kind of rain that covered the earth. The kind that fell down upon the ground like soft kisses. The kind that was sweet and warm. 

 She missed the rain, she missed the memories that fell with every drop. 

 She remembered how he loved the rain. How it was his favorite weather because it was an excuse to stay in and feign a chill so he could pull her close. She remembered how they'd sit in the same arm chair each time. She remembered its home in the corner by the window and how it was barely even big enough for him on his own. 

Each time he'd tell her that they would make it work, and each time he'd managed it. he would pull her onto his lap and insist it was better than the cushion anyways. She would squirm in his arms and insist she was too heavy, and he would always laugh. The sound was sweet, like it had been made just for her. 

 They would sit and watch the rain for hours, sometimes until it stopped. They'd watch as it would turn from a light shower into a mix of thunder and lightning and then its dissent back into a calm dusting of raindrops. 

All the while they would whisper between one another over the sounds from beyond the window. It felt like time had stopped just for them, that no matter how much seem to pass they were untouched within the bounds of their proximity. Small talk turned into hopes and dreams. Whispers turned into promises. 

 But she soon discovered that time waited for no one. That it kept a cruel pace, paying no heed to the unfulfilled promises and the whispers that voiced them. 

 She still remembered the night he didn't return. She remembered how her heart beat louder than the roar of the thunder and how her ears were deaf to it all.And what she wishes she could forget, she somehow managed to remember the most.

 A group of people, an overturned carriage, a man trapped beneath it.She remembered the story the owner of the carriage tried to tell her, how he tried to apologize, tried to slow down. How he hadn't seen the man in the road. 

She had long forgotten how she reached their home afterwards.The months blended together, nothing but pain she was glad to forget. Though, without fail, she could always recall the days when it rained and how much she cried along side the thunder. 

 She grew to hate the rain, and the reminders it brought with it. 

 As the decades passed, she learned to deafen herself to the sound. Though, tonight felt different. The feeling pulled her from her bed. 

She rose with purpose, her aching joints now limber, her spine that curved with age now straight.As she walked into the living room, her eyes fell upon the unlit fireplace, the only thing that remained a constant.Soon her eyes travel to a familiar figure sitting in the long neglected arm chair. 

His head was turned away to the window, the way it always was when he'd wake before her on a rainy day."It's raining," he said. His voice was still rich and sweet. He held out his hand, his gaze still on the window. The act made her heart feel like it was filled to the brim. 

 Ah. So it's a dream. 

She hated dreams like this the most, for they were the ones she wished to never wake from. The ones that gave her a glimpse of the life that was taken from her and the youth that was lost along with it. 

But she was always too weak to deny herself another moment with him, so she took his hand and allowed him to pull her into his arms. She held him as close as she could while she drank in every familiar curve and harsh line on his face. 

It was still as perfect as the day they'd lost each other. 

She tried to remain content, but because she was selfish, and because she couldn't help but covet more from these dreams, she would always ask him how long he waited for her to wake up.He would always tell her that it was minutes, hours at the most. She would always be disappointed at this confirmation of fiction, yet she couldn't bring herself to stop asking.This time, however, he was silent. 

"I've missed you," he replied. 

 She could feel the tears filling her eyes as she pulled back to look at him, "How long have you waited for me." 

"Decades." 

 Her tears fell free, he moved to wipe them away. "I'm sorry I left you." 

She shook her head at his words, now she was the one to pull him in. 

 "Never again," she whispered. 

"Never again," he promised. 

They stayed like that until the rain began to fall anew, wrapped in the warmth of one another, with their voice is low over the sound of the rain.