I Feel Sad Sometimes, For No Apparent Reason And When People Ask Me Why I'm Sad, I Get Angry. Not Because

It's a choice to be in love, as it is to be hurt by the ones we love. It's often those we love, that hurt us the most, because we've given them the ability to do so. We let them have special places in our hearts, prioritise them, their needs and wants, maybe get a little addicted to their company with more time and similar routines and let ourselves merge as though the process often completes us and makes us whole. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't. But it is a choice, all of it is. And as much as it hurts, that's the beauty in love, to choose to be vulnerable with the ones we love, to give them the ability to see us whole, to see us naked, for all that we are, the flaws and beauty, saints and sinners. We choose to be in love knowing it might just wreck havoc before it's all over. We choose love over and over again, because despite the pain, there is beauty in vulnerability, there is beauty in being hurt by love, by the ones we love. This was our choice, to love and to hurt.

© Raina Rose.

I read somewhere that, "through pretence you can make people stay, but you can't keep them", and ever since I can't help but wonder if every bit of me has been a lie to him... Yes, I love books, and stories and songs that says a million things inbetween, I love that the discussions never needed a topic, I love talking about philosophy and spirituality because he understands more about it than I do. But that's just it, I've been talking and keeping his attention because I don't want him to leave. Because if he left, then I'd have nothing left to hold onto. Because I'm afraid that there will be a hole in my heart where he used to reside.

I can appreciate the art darling, but it was more for you and about you than myself or anywhere between the lines of us. I love fiction and fairytales, I love stories that give me a break from reality, where for a short while I can be someone else and feel a million things without being apologetic about it all the time. I love songs that mean something than the ones that say too much just to fill the run time. I love movies that are romantic, I love stargazing, I love the mornings just a little before dawn where the whole world lays silently waiting for the Sun to rise to name a brand new day, in those moments, I feel life for everything that it is. But, whenever I am with you since the thought, I can't help but believe a little that somewhere inbetween I must have lied or been something else, for you've stayed this long and you never, truly stay. So I have to let you go because I can't keep up this pretence and feeling of uneasiness that I'm playing you a tune I never quite liked myself...

© Raina Rose.

You were the song I used to listen to on repeat, knew every beat by heart. I felt every high and low, every key and note, every word and tune and I could tell when you'd end and begin.

Soon, I started getting happy during certain parts, excited even. It was all so good that you'd make me smile just humming you to myself, you'd make me happy playing on repeat in my head.

You were the song I knew I loved, the moment I heard you, and you were the song I knew was close to heart, that I played it for that one special person I spoke to all day and night.

Then one day, he left, and I couldn't hear you the same anymore. I knew it was going to be bad so I stopped listening to you, because I didn't want to associate those feelings with you but that's exactly what happened...

You were always on my playlist and I didn't mind listening to you when you came on the radio every now and then by accident. The sweet memories would last for three and a half minutes before vanishing the same way they'd appeared.

And that's the thing, I wouldn't deliberately play you on my own, that would be too painful and knowing the feelings attached to you, I couldn't possibly punish myself in such a cruel way.

Soon, words that were once meant for happiness, turned sour and I didn't want to dissect the meaning of you other than what I'd already interpreted in my head before.

Now, I hear you once in awhile and maybe it doesn't hurt anymore but it still doesn't feel the same as it did before...

You're the song I once loved, was intoxicated with, knew by heart and you will be the song I'll never listen to again by choice...

I'll never choose you again...

© Raina Rose.

The Black Mustang

Something familiar caught my eyes across the junction, and how I wish I didn't remember. It’s such an odd thing because you’d think spending time trying to forget it and having done a decent job at not remembering, would amount to your inability to recall a certain past. However, that was very much untrue today.

The shiny black Mustang. There it was, after all these years. I didn’t have to check the license plate to know it was yours, but I knew it was. Maybe I expected it to look a little older, more broken and faded like me, but it looked almost as good as the day you first pulled up into that parking lot, the day I knew you’d be the death of me. One little, visible scratch on the bonnet and you’d spend hours buffing it out. Yes, a little exaggeration there, but maybe those are the little things I missed about you most when you were gone. The way you frowned when you were upset, or the way you kept pushing your glasses back up your nose, the way you wore your watch a little loosely, and the way your hand always found mine to rest upon even while driving.

This could only mean one thing, that you were finally home. And that implied another thing altogether, that I didn’t exist in your thoughts anymore.

I found myself walking closer to the Mustang, and the closer I got, the more I remembered. This wasn’t just a car to us, it was a home on many days we didn’t have a place to go. We’d spend hours camping out with food and movies, sometimes with coffee and books. I remember the way your car always smelled like the pages of a book well-loved and used, the ones with many lines of bends on its spine, the ones with plenty of dog-ear pages that we never quite went back to finish up, and the ones that were always comforting and maybe a little tragic. After all, we remember pain better than happiness.

On good days, we spoke about anything under the sun and found solace in the simplest yet abstract ideas. It felt as though we were unbound, vast yet small, and inadequate in comparison to a world we knew so little about. On bad days, we had songs to fill the deafening silence and drove for miles in search of a destination that never quite came. Words could never fill the void quite the way your music did.

This car was the birthplace of our dreams and in the end, the very death of it too. How I wish I’d taken the usual way back home today. But today, I felt adrift, out of place, and heavy-hearted. I felt strange and I couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but I saw it all staring back at me in the reflection of the very car I loved as much as you. Because its appearance each day meant you were here and that you were gonna take me home, it meant we were gonna laugh till our jaws hurt a little, that we were gonna share a huge cup of coffee and have endless conversations. It meant that you were finally with me and that made each day worth surviving. And its absence left me just as devastated as yours did. I waited many days hoping for the familiar squeal of your tires that never quite came, I kept faith that only faded each day I was alone again.

It felt peaceful remembering you and everything about us, but it shattered me a little more. It felt like the path I was walking on had given way and I fell into the depths of an abyss, traveling in complete darkness and at the mercy of your saving, all over again.

Maybe I wanted to be lost and trapped and hurt and bled. Maybe I’d hoped you’d walk this way right now, in this very instant, and see me standing right next to the thing we once cherished. It could always go south but why did I enjoy this pain you kept bringing down upon me? It was as though I wanted to be wounded, like it didn’t matter even if I was hurt. I wanted to know what you’d choose; to embrace or ignore, to love or let go...

I guess the devil finally came out to play and in that moment I saw my deepest desire; I wanted to see you one more time, even if that encounter was bound to hurt me. Somewhere between remembering and thinking about all these things, my legs started to give way and I had to sit on the curb. Looking a little homeless and a lot broken, I knew I had to go.

As much as I craved your presence, the familiar scent of your cologne and aftershave, the tight embraces after a really long day, the way your lips curled as you whispered my name, the way you were my sanity and I was your reality, was all nothing but a dream now.

I still walk home the other way just to see if your car is still there, some days it’s gone and my heart aches a little and on other days, its presence gives me a strange sense of comfort.

Maybe it’s a twisted game, maybe the car isn’t yours, and maybe one day you’ll be there with it. All I know is that somewhere in the space between the walls of my heart and the empty lots of that parkade, you exist. Your very being fills this place with soul and maybe I need a little bit of that. And that little bit will give me every ounce of strength I need to carry on with life. Maybe one day it’ll all be gone and I will go back to my mundane routine, but I’d never stop looking for you, for us, in a crowd.

Maybe one day it’d hurt a lot less thinking about all this, and maybe one day it’d be just another black Mustang and on that day, I’ll know I made peace with a past I no longer held. Just maybe…

© Raina Rose.

The thing most heartbreaking about it all is falling in love again. It's insanity wanting to repeat the process, taking chances and trying all over again despite the failures and pain, now that, that has to be heartbreaking. To think you've dealt with the worst thrown at you and to crawl back out from under the sheets, with wounds only healing, barely being held by stitches you made half awake in pain, maybe drunk. Why would you want to do it all over again?

To be brave enough to put your heart back out on the line 'cause the last hit and run didn't kill you. Yet. To start a conversation with men who could care less but of course, you manage to convince yourself otherwise in the name of hope these days. To drive yourelf crazy whenever they don't respond or when you get stood up or when you make a comment and that worked before but didn't now and you look stupid for trying. When you do your best to really just be loved but God, they make it so hard.

You get a little more mad each day. Waking up, thinking that the day ahead will hurt less than the day before but we both know that, that statement dissolves away everytime you see him around the corner, creeping into your thoughts and mind with things and words and places that remind you of him. You lose pieces of yourself over time each day and you can barely hold it all together, but you still try anyways.

Then, one day, God gets tired of playing with you so he sends someone your way and just for a bit it seems okay. You don't lose your mind, you start trusting him (because loving wasn't enough) and you tell him things that made you sad, that hurt you, you speak of your demons and pain, not to garner sympathy but in hopes he understands better, in hopes that he will know better. Eventually, you lose track of time and the days drift by and all you do is smile and fill your days with his presence. Slowly, you start falling in love again and when you're completely losing yourself for him, he pulls back without hesitation and now, you're falling, unbound when you should have been held. By the time you realize that you're broken, he's gone, God's laughing and you're back to square one with nothing left but a bleeding mess we call heart, a broken one in fact. Too broken this time around.

So no, the worst always comes after the heartbreak. To be brave enough to try and fail again and maybe there's a beauty in that but it is insanity, really; doing the same things over and over again all while expecting different outcomes. It is heartbreaking. Love is heartbreaking...

© Raina Rose.

His eyes held a glimpse of another world, an ocean of love; one I wish to drown in. The only thing left to do now is surrender. For to be that close to him, you can't help but fall in love, over and over again...

© Raina Rose.

I think I'll always love him. You can argue, like spring and summer, the seasons are bound to change. But baby no, this will always stay the same.

I think I'll always love him. You can fight this war a million ways, but this is a battle I've chosen over and over to stay.

I think I'll always love him. You'll tire your routine one day, look, he's not even looking your way. That's true, he'll tire of looking this way, that's why my heart says, we won't let him lose his way.

I'll always love him but no he won't stay, that's okay, I've been here on my own anyways...

© Raina Rose.

I packed my bags and got ready to leave. Took a last glimpse and kissed him on his lips. This was goodbye. I picked up my bags and started walking, wait, my hands trembled and I couldn't move. Suddenly, the brave decision I made last night crumbled to pieces as he tossed over in bed and reached out searching for me in thin air. There there love, I'm right here, where I've been, where I'll always be, right by your side even when it's killing me...

© Raina Rose.

You're the song I wish to fall asleep to every night. You're the song I listen to on repeat and never tire of. You're the song that keeps me company even when I'm crowded by a thousand. You're the kind of song that makes my heart flutter. You're the song I know every lyric to by heart. You're the song that gets me excited just by having the music come on through a melody. You're the song that makes me smile even when I can't. You're the song that makes me fall in love all over again. You're the song I'll dance to dressed in white with the one I've loved, for I've loved you...

© Raina Rose.

365 Days Without You

I always thought grief would be black and white, monotonous for the most part. Then I thought it would be grey, like the clouds, right before it rained, holding onto as much as you can till you fall apart. But the past year has taught me that grief has colors, colors no one stops to notice or understand, colors I never thought I’d see again...

Sometimes grief would be blue, like the sky that goes on without an end, it was quiet and calm, maybe a little long yet soothing despite the sorrow deep within. Grief was green, like the trees, grass, and weeds that grew on the side of your grave, grief was growth and life despite the life lost. Grief was red, like the million flowers we arranged atop your grave in hopes you could smell them the way we could, red like the anger that kept seething despite all the rational thoughts and beliefs, a little faulty and unpredictable. Then, grief was yellow, it was funny with a little drop of sunshine where you could only think to find darkness, it was proof you could smile despite adversities. Grief is anything but the gloomy, grey picture we often paint in our heads.

I still vividly remember the day I received the call at work. I had only imagined what pain and sorrow would feel like until that moment, and despite knowing the worst has happened, all I felt was complete numbness. I could have sworn I held my breath on the ride home, wishing the car to speed past traffic lights, but also praying not to reach, not to ever find out what was awaiting me at the end of the journey. I was not prepared for this goodbye despite knowing and feeling its lingering presence for months. I was not ready to let you go… 

I had so much to say and yet silence engulfed me whole for months. I could never quite put my thoughts into words the way I wanted to, I could not speak to a wall thinking your presence filled the room or think of you as an angel living in the heavens above, looking down on me. I could not simply pretend you still were here, yet I could not completely fathom your absence long enough to understand that you were gone forever.

Maybe I was a little mad, but more than anger, it was sadness in a way I had never felt before. It was in knowing nothing would ever come close to having spent decades with you ever again. It was in knowing I could never again hold your hand as we walked through the park, never again drink the coffees that you make or share your favorite strawberry ice creams with you, it was in knowing I could never again hear your voice calling me out as I walked past your room, never again having your presence in celebrations and festivities that you dearly looked forward to. It was in knowing you’d never again sing along to the songs that played on the radio, never again waking up in the wee hours to catch World Cup matches, listening to your commentary and supporting Brazil because that was your favorite team. It was in knowing you’d never be the one who takes up the spot right next to me in family portraits and birthday photographs, it was in knowing I have kissed you goodbye for the last time and put you six feet deep where I could not quite reach you the way I wanted to. My sorrow was tied to never having you again, and knowing that there is still much I needed you for in life. It is tied to the absence and void that I now have to live and make peace with because there isn’t much else to do…

I expected myself to feel lost, to go through tons of emotions, behave irrationally, throw tantrums, and spend most of my days and nights in complete solitude. Life was a far cry from what I’d imagined, I spent most of my days after your loss swamped with work and I was surprisingly good at it. And when I couldn’t breathe, I found myself locked in a toilet or curled up on the bed, holding myself together on the brink of losing it, praying to keep it together for just a bit longer. This was a huge loss for the entire family, and with the emotional rollercoaster we all rode those months, I found it necessary to keep all my pain and sorrow hidden. I made the most jokes, recalled your time with us animatedly and did what I could to make sure everyone was okay. Most days, I kept myself mentally and physically busy to the point when I hit the bed, there was no room for thinking, let alone overthinking. All I did for a good six months or so, was work, exhaust myself and sleep.

Life took a complete turn overnight and I was nowhere near prepared for a death I knew was coming and would completely shatter me.

Tell me, how does one prepare for the complete absence of a loved one for the rest of whatever forever we have left…

I am grateful for photographs and videos of you; they bring you back whole to me for a split second every time I catch a glimpse of them. Sometimes, with my eyes closed, I could swear I feel you right here with me. In the moments I spend most alone, most broken and find myself hurting and longing for your comforting hug and presence, I feel myself break in a way I could never explain. But in those very moments, I think you’re somewhere nearby, holding my hands, silently sitting with me, the way you always did. I know you are right here. 

You’re in every flower that blooms in my garden, in every innocent smile and laughter of every child I meet on the streets, in the black coffees I drink every morning now, and in your favorite songs that play constantly on my playlist. You’re everywhere I turn, and it is not painful anymore. It’s comforting to know the things you’ve left behind in the form of objects, routines, and habits help hold me together in knowing you’re just as much here as you were before when I feel a little abandoned in life.

It still feels like you’re asleep in an unknown, unfindable room in this house, I still wait to see if you’d come walking down the hall whenever we gather for family time like you always do, I still think you’re here whenever I turn another corner or sit on your couch waiting for you to magically appear again as though nothing went amiss, like the past year didn't happen. I wonder if I prayed long and hard enough, if you'd come right back and life would resume playing out the way it was supposed to.

Sitting here, I could tell you I did not believe I’d make it past the first 24 hours, let alone a whole year. It feels surreal, like a never-ending dream I hope to awaken from and find you laughing with me as I recall every little detail, but it all feels less probable and more an unchanged reality as time passes by. With every day that begins and ends without you, know that I carry you in my heart, know that every step I take and every single thing I do, will embody you, and it will be something I hope makes you proud.

Tell me what I missed when I see you again, tell me how much you missed me and hold me till I feel whole again, tell me all your wonderful adventures from when you were young again even though I remember every story, every word, by heart, the way I do you.

I will always hold you in my heart for whatever life and eternity there is left to live,

with eternal love,

Rose.

In loving memory of my most beloved grandfather♥️

© Raina Rose