Heart out of order

Chapter 4 (Letting go)

I'm struggling to do it. I simply can't. Tears are streaming down my cheeks as I drive back from the post office. This seemingly routine task has unleashed a flood of emotions that I can't contain. It's as if the weight of everything I've been carrying has become too much to bear. Each second feels heavier than the last, and the tears won't stop. This moment is a raw display of my vulnerability and inner upheaval, laid bare for anyone to see.

My broken heart seeks solace, yearning to find peace in the midst of all this emotional disturbance. Yet, the shattering of my emotions, peace seems elusive. It's as if the fragments of my heartache scatter, leaving no refuge for serenity to take root. The pain of being broken lingers, haunting every attempt for me to mend and heal. In this state of shattered vulnerability, peace becomes a dream, forever out of reach. Yet, despite the absence of peace, there remains a glimmer of hope that one day, amidst the broken pieces, calmness may be found once more.

The weather paints a dismal picture, characterized by a relentless downpour from heavy, ominous black clouds that blot out any trace of blue in the sky. The atmosphere is steeped in darkness, reflecting the intensity of the rainfall, which shows no signs of abating. As I pull up to our home and guide the car onto our porch, I'm struck by its unique design, I'm noticing it for the first time—a raised platform resembling a steep incline, constructed from rustic red bricks and stretching across a significant area. Nestled alongside the porch lies our modest yet charming garden, lovingly tended by my father. Here, amidst the rain-soaked earth remains an assortment of vegetables and fragrant roses with unwavering dedication. My father's passion for gardening is palpable; he revels in the simple pleasures of cultivating life and finds solace amidst the greenery, often spending hours basking in the sunlight, tending to his beloved plants with care and attention to detail. This small haven serves as a sanctuary, a place of respite and renewal amidst the relentless onslaught of the storm.

Upon arriving home, I sit in the car, reclining my head against the seat. Outside, raindrops cascade down the windshield, a rhythmic pattern that mesmerizes me—each drop falling with a predictable cadence: one, two, three, four, and on it goes, a steady stream of comfort in the midst of remotness.

Being alone weighs heavily on me, especially during moments like these, when my mind becomes a battleground for consuming thoughts that threaten to overwhelm me. The prospect of facing my inner chaos feels daunting, leaving me reluctant to abandon the sanctuary of the car.

But there's something strangely comforting about the weather, its relentless downpour creating an atmosphere of calmness that beckons me. Perhaps, I think, I could find peace in the midst of this storm, embracing the raw beauty of nature's fury.

With newfound determination, I decide to seize the moment. Rather than retreating indoors, I opt to embrace the elements and immerse myself in the rain-soaked world outside. It's a spontaneous decision—a deviation from the norm—but one that feels oddly liberating.

As I start the engine and pull away from the house, I feel a sense of exhilaration wash over me. There's a freedom in the act of cruising aimlessly through the rain-soaked streets, the rhythmic patter of raindrops on the roof of the car providing a soothing soundtrack to my journey.

In this moment, I find myself unburdened by the weight of my thoughts, liberated from the confines of my own mind. The rain washes away my worries, cleansing my spirit and rejuvenating my soul. And for the first time in a long while, I feel truly alive.

It's the middle of March, and the rain pours relentlessly from the sky, as if the heavens have decided to release all their downpours on this particular day.

As I drive through the storm, enjoying my alone time in the, it suddenly hits me—I have his songs. Zavier, with his unparalleled talent, possessed a voice like no other. There was a rawness to it, a depth that resonated with every note he sang. His mastery over the guitar was unmatched, his fingers dancing effortlessly across the strings. To me, no one has ever sung as beautifully as he did.