A/N: This story idea wouldn't leave me alone. All I can really tell you so far is that it may be a bumpy ride, but I won't leave you hanging in the end.
I Think It's Gonna Rain Today
Four months. That's 18 weeks. 123 days. And still I haven't forgotten anything about you... the way your hair falls carelessly in your face as your eyes strain so diligently over your paperwork (I can't get any of my own done because I can't keep my eyes off you)... the way your sweet scent lingers like the chill of a rainstorm after you leave the room... the little crinkles on your nose when you laugh like you've never known the horrors of this job.
I sit here sipping my morning coffee, and I can't help but wonder what you're doing at this very moment. Maybe you're warming yourself with a cup of that tea you decided you'd try. I wonder if you've really stuck to tea or if you're back to coffee now. I wonder how many times I cross your mind during the day, if anything ever triggers memories of us. I wonder if you feel angry toward me still. Do you still feel hurt, or do you understand why I had to leave? No, you couldn't possibly... Not entirely, anyway.
You called and left another voicemail for me yesterday. It was the first one in about a month. "Just checking in," you said, even after all this time. You don't know how close I've come to calling you back, but I can't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. One day maybe you'll forget me (even if I'll never forget you). That would be best for you, but I know you, Liv. I know you care with all that you are, and you haven't given up on me yet. Some days you're the only reason I haven't given up on myself.
The sky today is a steel gray, and I hear the distant rumble of thunder as the trees outside my window bow against the force of the steady breeze. I had planned to go for a walk or a run today, just to clear my head in a way nothing else seems to be able to anymore, but I know I'll find some excuse to stay inside, crawl back under the covers, and dine with no one but my memories of you. After all, I think it's gonna rain today...
I'm starting this journal in an admittedly desperate attempt to get you off my mind. You're all that I am now. All that is left of me is you. You're the drifting, fleeting thought as I fall asleep each night, you're the foggy, reluctant notion that pries my mind awake each morning, and you're everything in between. You're the breath that fills my lungs and the pulse that keeps my heart beating. It all sounds silly and cliche (believe me, I know), but by God it's all true. If the yellowing empty pages of this old leather-bound book and the thick black ink of this cheap pen are what it takes to get some relief from you, then so be it. So be it.
To be continued