Moving On| learning through the elements.

So, fun fact(s) about me ;

  1. I love fun facts but not on command.
  2. I enjoy using nature in metaphors.
  3. (Almost) every month I submit an entry in the Challenge of the Month on Prose.

Here was the challenge for April.

Below is my entry.

DISCLAIMER : I’ve edited the original entry slightly for this post because….well, because I can and I wanted to.

Lessons From the Sun & the Rain.

It felt like the unexpected rain storm that intrudes on the middle of a sunny day. There I was, with all that I once bare cloaked in the warmth of your existence, left feeling exposed only to wither. Every part of me, drenched in your absence. What departed from my sky only revealed this inadequacy I had to grasp the significance of your life on mine. Now, there’s an uncertainty that weaves through echoes of wind even in the brightest of days.

I think of you often when the weight of this rain cripples me in blame. In my deepest of pain you’ll find me here, cursing your cherished name. Another gloomy day and I have remained without you. Growing only in doubt to ever innocently cherish the warmth of a sun again. For that I suppose I must thank the rain.

It feels like the kind of rain that quenches the crackled soil and nourishes the deepest of roots. Allowing me to recognize what should be cherished is all to which revives the parts of me that had begun to die, suffocated under the fractures of heat. Damn, did I ever even thank you for what you recanted from me? Perhaps then inevitably, we can only cherish with every part of our being what we’ve known the absence of.

I share what feels like an intimate entry with you not because I think what I wrote was eminent or even in need of recognition. I share it because it’s the closest I’ve gotten to accurately depicting how and why I struggle to move on. And because it is through this honest means of emotion that I’ve come to know that what I have often feared I’ve only regretted not sharing with the those of its intention.

It’s hard to image our lives without the things we love the most especially when it’s all we’ve ever known. And if you’ve ever been soaked by a sudden down pour of rain when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, then you know there are just some things you can’t prepare for. Not to mention who wants to waste time planning for rain in the sunny place you’ve discovered to dwell. But there is something important to recognize in that abrupt moment of unpreparedness. Which is, all that is unveiled in a painful exposure to the awareness of what now feels taken for granted in recognizing something we cherished.

It felt like the unexpected rain storm that intrudes on the middle of a sunny day.

I have written that line repeatedly. First, in my effort to describe how death felt when it first arrived upon my family and the effects I began to prepare for thereafter. Then again as I tried to make sense to the end of the truest friendship I’d ever known. Both of those posts I have left unfinished for my incapacity to ever make sense in the end about what I needed to say. It took drawing upon both memories for me to compose my entry about something to lose. And as I reread through the lines of what I what wrote it’s apparent that what I have been missing is the truth of what I’ve been wanting to say.

The truth is this. In my life I have come to know what it feels like to cherish something. To recognize when the sun has reappeared in the darkness of a sky and how it will dry up what is left of the rain. As I’ve lived through the beginning and the end of each it has brought great significance to the concept of moving on. Perhaps most importantly though was coming to know what the weight of living in ambiguity can do to the gift of my own eyes.

The gift of knowing that the moments of our lives, much like the weather, are always passing by. They are merely a part that makes up the whole. We can waste our days planning for what our experience tells us will one day come or we can enjoy the sun while it is here. Knowing that tomorrow we may not have what we have today shouldn’t imply that we will never feel its warmth again.  


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