Assorted Angst

Grief

I was sitting on my bed staring at the ceiling today.

I was thinking of you.

It started raining. I remember you loved the rain.

You loved running through it, getting drenched, your wet, soggy hair sticking to your perfect face. I could never hold back a smile when I saw you like that.

I heard thunder after that.

You didn't like thunder. It always scared you. I remember whenever there was thunder, you'd come into my room looking so scared and so, so small.

I wouldn't say a word, I would just look at you with a gentle smile and move aside to let you climb into my bed. And we hugged until you fell asleep.

You were never afraid when you were in my arms. You knew I would never let anything hurt you just as long as you were in my arms.

I'm sorry that I let you leave that night, with tears pouring down your face. You ran out and slammed the door. I felt horrible for letting you leave. I was so afraid you were going to get hurt.

You didn't; not then, anyway. You came back in the next day, shivering and hungry, to see me crying on the couch. I never liked crying in front of you. I always wanted to be strong for you.

I gave you the tightest hug I think I've ever given, and told you I was sorry. I gave you clean clothes and a blanket and I made us dinner. It was so long ago, but I still remember. I remember because it was your favorite. I didn't usually make it unless you were mad at me. I wish I'd made it more often. It made you so happy. It made you smile.