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I sat in the silence of my loft, trying to block the sound of rain pelting the window. I refused to go out in it.

I was more confused than angry, honestly. Confused about why he was gone, confused about how I felt about him, confused about where he was.

I had spent the remainder of the day that I had found his apartment searching the city. The volleyball field, coffeehouse, that fucking brick wall he stood on. It was like he has never existed. The doorman of his building didn't know where he was, no one had seen him.

It has barely stopped raining since then, as if the sky was mocking me. I didn't want to go out in the rain, because not even it can take this pain away. I barely knew the asshole, but my heart was shattered. His mystery, his words, his everything, my soul ached for.

But life isn't a series of poetic blurbs to explain feelings. It's life, and it keeps going rather you're walking with it or not.

***

I took my last box out of the car as the sun warmed my hair. It wasn't raining, and Seattle permeated happiness. I started to hike my boxes up to my new apartment building, recruiting the help of the doorman. Eventually, my boxes were all stacked at the door, and I slid the key into the lock of room C21 and stepped in. The bay window overlooking the city stood just as I remembered it.

downpour // immortalhdWhere stories live. Discover now