Forgive the Sun

The rain beats the ground with merciless rage. She watches the cold, angry water nearly flood the Earth in its uncontrollable madness, and it feels as if it’s been raining since summer, since July, since forever. Maybe longer.

A leaf the color of sunrise is flung carelessly by the tyrannical wind, detached from the branch it once peacefully rested with. Her hand reaches out absently and she loosely catches it.

How long had it been since she last saw the sun? She can’t remember when, can’t remember what it looks like.

She forgets the sun.

Only a brief, passing memory of it drifts aimlessly in her mind, vague, useless. Remembrances can’t stop the rain from drowning the world in its insanity.

The last time she truly saw daylight, was last embraced by the warm touch of sunrays, was in July, or maybe June, or maybe she’d never stood under the blue skies. It was on June 26th that she found out her neighbor was dying of cancer.

In the rain, under the gray clouds, there’s a certain beauty in the way it mutes the colors, makes the leaves both stand out more and fade into the background. It’s a quiet sort of beauty, unnoticed, unrecognized, unsure of what its own beauty is. She thinks it’s brilliant in its own way.

Too much, though, of the dulled colors, too long without seeing the leaves nearly transparent from the gentle sunlight, and she forgets what it was like to ever see rays of daylight filter through them.

She shivers.

Memories can’t stop the present from continuing, can’t make the shaded, muted colors become vibrant again. Memories can’t forgive the sun.

Only a few weeks after June 26th, maybe a month, her neighbor died of terminal cancer. She wasn’t sure what to feel, how to feel; she knew her neighbor for nearly her entire life, but didn’t know her. A life next door was always present, always there to know, to learn from – who was she?- gone unrecognized by her child’s eyes.

The leaf held gently in her hand is suddenly gone, stolen by the wind’s greedy fingers, and she stares at her empty hand blankly. What color had it been?

Sunrise, she thinks. It was...like the sunrise.

Yet she can’t remember it exactly, the past clouding her vision of the leaf. Memories only see it scattering frantically in the wind’s mighty path.

She thinks, who was she?

What had been her thoughts, her dreams, her hopes? What had made her angry, sad, happy?

What had she looked like?

She wipes away the colorless raindrops clinging to her face, unable to find any answers. Her hand lingers absently as she gazes thoughtlessly at the darkened sky, ashamed.

Memories can’t forgive the sun...

When had the sun last been brave enough to defeat the thick veil of rain? When had it last stood courageously alone, singular in its purpose, to drive away the confusing, insane, overwhelming nothingness?

Not since July, or maybe June, or perhaps the sun never existed. It feels like forever. Maybe longer.

She turns away to walk inside, shelter from the bleakness, and misses the lone ray of sunlight that streaks from behind the clouds, through them, for an instant. In a heartbeat, it’s gone.

Stopping suddenly, she turns and sees only the leaves being pushed and pulled maliciously by the wind, sees only the way the rains flood the grass until it drowns.

Who was she?

The color of sunrise.

Confused, dampened by the weather, unsure of where her hopes now lie, she continues her sullen trek back inside and closes the door behind her.

Memories can’t forgive the sun.

Even though the clouds strangle the sky thickly, the sun still rests behind it, preparing for more battles with the colorless. Eventually it awakes, drives away the clouds, and beams triumphantly.

After all, even hope needs to rest.