“You looked out the window and, not for the first time, thought about how wrong the weather forecast had been.”

And not because of the fact that it wasn’t raining. The rain would have actually been nice, afterall. But it did make you think about predictability and its intrinsic value to be at fault. 

Pre...before.

Dict...say.

Even things claimed in certainty still have a small chance of changing paths. A different light unfolding.

Is this why you find it so hard to trust sometimes? 

“We can’t get married in April,” you said. “It will be rained out for sure.”

“I just want to marry you,” he said. 

You put your foot down. 

“I’m not risking rain.”

You looked out the window now. A clear April day. Once with a forecast of love, and of rain. 

And now there was neither. Now, there would be no wedding at all. 

Is this really how it was supposed to be?

You were angry at him for dying, you thought. Although, you knew you shouldn’t be. 

What was your forecast now?

You thought about that word and remembered what it was like -- before. 

Before the cast of this tainted reality. 

What happens when unpredictability becomes true? 

If only you can stop a moment from unfolding. 

There is no stopping a storm from ceasing to exist. 

Or do we exist to weather the storms? 

You were not sure on this sunny day, though when you looked up, you did see a rain cloud. 

And you knew in that moment that certainty was not a fixed notion. 

Everything was just as it was meant to be. 

And you were just flowing along, part of it. 

You decided to let go of your grasp that day. To trust. To know that any plans you have might be tossed out, suddenly. And you had to be okay with that. You had to believe that something better. Something bigger was waiting on the other side. 

It’s what kept you going. Without that, would surely mean death. 

And not the death of the physical. Many people are walking while dead. 

It is a known fact. 

It is true that a human can live without a soul, but a soul cannot live without a human. 

This is why there is a fight for life on Earth. Why we all have that desire to fight for our lives. We know something more lives here, lingering. 

Sometimes, you can see it in someone’s eyes. 

Or in the absence of their eyes. The emptiness. 

But surely, each story is telling. Each story represents the water. Which is the spirit, manifested. 

Humans are 80% water, maybe even a little more, and yet we feel so deeply?

What is this force that contributes to feeling if not one that is meant to be felt?

How can anyone really be forgotten? They can’t be. 

And that is why it is so important to say, I love you. 

While you can. 

You plan. You check the weather. But you often forget to check-in with yourself.

How are you doing? 

Is your heart growing? Or is it closed? 

Do you ever really know?

You thought life was just about survival, you hadn’t thought about what it would be like to actually be happy. You thought that was only in dreams. In movies. 

Yet you still chase after that feeling. 

You felt it once. And you finally knew what the mystics, the romantics, were talking about. 

You knew what it meant to be in love and when you looked at him you didn’t feel so lost, but actually alive. And you liked that about him.  That he made you feel something that you could not describe. 

You could say it is ironic, that it was raining that morning. 

That he took his last breath beneath raindrops. 

You are not sure why you used to be so scared of the rain, yet thought it was beautiful. 

He told you, that is what true love is like.  

“You have to be willing to take a risk. To lose it all.” 

“That sounds terrible,” you said. 

You didn’t want to lose anything else. 

“What is the good of something, if you can never miss it?” He asked. 

“I don’t want to miss you,” you said. 

“If you don’t miss me, you will never know how much I mean to you.” 

Looking back you know you should have told him that you already knew. 

But instead, you just stayed silent. And so did he.

And unfortunately, that was the only night you went to bed upset with each other. 

It was raining the next morning. And when you awoke he was already gone. 

After a quick scan of the apartment, and of the carport, you knew he had gone somewhere. Maybe out for coffee. Or a morning hike.

You were still angry. 

Did he not remember what his grandpa had told you both that day? 

“Never go to bed angry,” he said. “If you remember nothing else, remember this.”

“You never let a woman go to bed angry.” 

You remembered this moment. 

What he really meant is, it’s never worth it. You are never promised tomorrow, so make it right now, while you can. 

You made your own coffee that morning. 

And then came the two men with a knock on the door, and your life was changed forever. 

All of your anger turned to sorrow.

And you were sorry. 

And you understood. 

You knew what his grandpa was trying to help you avoid. 

That feeling when it’s too late to say: I’m sorry, I love you. 

By now, it had stopped raining. 

A morning drizzle that quickly came and went. 

Why were you so scared of it?

If you hadn’t been, maybe he would still be here. 

And he would be your husband.

Now, he never would be. 

He never was meant to be.

Is it fear that drives us to fail, or is it failure that leads us to fear?

Are there even such things as failures, at all?