Hey honey, I know you’re busy right now, but I wanted to let you know it’s raining. I know you can see it, but isn’t it great? Sometimes I feel like all that’s holding us together are these small moments of humanity where we reach for one another through the noise and yank each other to attention. Like we’re all just hamsters on the wheel of life running and running and running until someone pulls us off and says, “hey, look at the quiet beauty of this natural phenomenon.”
Wow, it’s really coming down out there.
Speaking of down, I’m really feeling down about the state of humanity. I think it started when you refused to say “cow” when we saw a cow while we were driving. Up until that point, I thought there was a basic understanding of what we owed each other as a part of this partnership. Apparently, I was wrong. It fractured my basic trust in our relationship. How can I ever rely on you after this?
Do you see how big these raindrops are? They’re massive!
And to be massively honest, I really think my trust broke back when my mom died. She was the only other person in my life who called out “horse” when we passed by horses. So, when you didn’t say “snow” when it started snowing as we were driving in the funeral procession through my winter laden town, I started questioning everything about our past and future. You knew how important these small moments were. You knew it would help ease the pain of the loss of my dear mother. And yet you didn’t do it. Do you even care about me?
Wow. It’s absolutely pouring right now. I’ve never seen it rain this hard.
You know what else is pouring out of me? Worry and fear that this tradition will die with me. I’m worried I’m cohabitating with someone who doesn’t value the time treasured traditions that bring their partner joy. I thought you understood me and my wants and needs, but now I’m questioning everything. Honey? Can you hear me?
Oh look! Our streets and sidewalks are flooding.
Another type of flooding is happening, too. The emotional flooding of my heart. I know, for a fact, you, my dear lover, used to tell me every single time it started to rain. Whether by text or by scream, you let me know. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you. But lately, you’ve gone quiet, leaving me the only voice acknowledging the weather events and farm animals passing through our small life.
Oh man, there’s water lapping against our back door. Hopefully, nothing gets in!
The truth is lapping against the back door of my brain. Things have shifted. I’d say they’re seismic, but I know you hate it when I speak in hyperboles. One could say this whole conversation is hyperbolic, but that’s too easy. No, instead it feels necessary. Like finally scratching an itch that you’ve been trying to ignore. Am I the only one who is going to say “it’s raining” from now on? “Are you even listening to me right now?
Well, there goes John’s truck floating down the road.
My life feels like John’s truck. Floating and lost without this small modicum of basic human interaction. I have passed through this house like a ghost; barely being acknowledged when I choose to speak the obvious before our eyes. When did we lose our way? How did we become so disconnected from each other?
Oh look! There’s Joan waving from her roof. Hey, Joan!
My trust in you feels as fractured as Joan’s roof. In such disrepair that I cannot find the instructions on how to fix it. Like a puzzle in a brewery where there’s always one piece missing. Do you see what I’m saying? When you don’t point out the weather, I feel like our entire relationship is a sham.
Oh, would you look at that! The rain has stopped. Well, I better get back to work. Can you believe it’s sunny now?
