Another entry from me.
This one was inspired by the heavy rainstorm we got here in L.A. on Saturday morning, while I was on my break at work. The Dar Williams song I quoted in the letter, "Playing to the Firmament," came to mind while I sat under a balcony watching the drops splash around me, and then I wanted to write this . . .
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It's raining outside. Where are you today, Tara?
It hardly ever rains in Sunnydale, of course. But every single one of the--oh, three or four times it has rained since I met you, we were together when it happened. And just like it always does in Southern California during the wintertime, it rains like CRAZY when it does! You know how it is--as soon as the drops start to falling, everybody's driving-sense dissolves on contact with the wet. It's cold and icky and gloomy, and since most people in this town prefer to walk anyway, it gets really lonely out on the streets. I know, 'cause I was just out on them.
Remember how we used to do that? Walk out under the rain together while everybody peered out their windows at us like we were crazy? You'd always point out that we were crazy. Crazy in love, that was.
And you'd sing to me then, too--usually that Dar Williams song you love so much. "In the rain, in the rain, people rush around on cold streets. Here's a shell to hear their heartbeats, very loud, very loud. Where's the pain? It's only rain, it's only slowing down a work day, only singing Happy Birthday to a crowd, very loud." We'd spin each other around in the downpour, laughing and holding each other and ignoring the cold and the water streaming into our eyes.
Then we'd go home and you'd fuss over me in that adorable way you have, insisting that I take a nice hot shower--with you, of course--and get warm. You'd say that as much as you loved taking care of me, you didn't like it when I got sick. I'd tell you that it worked both ways, 'cause I didn't want you getting sick either. You would smile and kiss me then, and tell me how much you loved me. And after we'd cleaned up and gotten warm and dry, we'd curl up in bed together and wait for the rain to stop.
Sometimes we'd make love, and I swear I don't ever remember hearing the sounds of the storm, even though a couple of those times the newscasters were commenting about the lightning and thunder. Other times we'd just lie there and snuggle, perfectly happy to be in each other's arms. No matter how we passed the time, I always felt like the sun was shining on me there, in that room. That's how your love made me feel. That's why, when the sun really did come out again, it never seemed too surprising to me, or too bright.
But today I went out and walked in the rain, and I missed you. It's kinda cliché, I know, but I really couldn't tell the difference between the raindrops and the tears on my face. I don't even remember how long I spent out there. I don't even think I'll notice when the clouds finally do go away, 'cause without you, I'm pretty much always walking alone in the rain.
And then I came home looking like a drowned rodent-thingie with red fur, shivering and dripping all over the front hall. So I ran upstairs right away to take a shower and get some dry clothes on, made myself some hot chocolate, and crawled into bed, which is where I am right now, writing to you. (Are you even reading my letters? I hope so, though I wouldn't blame you if you didn't even want to open them.) I thought you'd probably still get all upset if I got sick just because you weren't here to make sure I got taken care of after the soaking. It's not the same though--it's too lonely. (You would still be upset, wouldn't you, baby?)
I'm living at my parents' house now, by the way. I got myself into some bad trouble and put Dawn into an icky situation, so Buffy got foot-stompy with me. She said that if I couldn't get a hold of myself and act like an adult, I should go home to Mommy and Daddy. At first, I couldn't believe she said that, and I wished you'd been here to defend me the way you always did before, and tell her that I was perfectly capable of acting like an adult.
Then I realized that no, this time you wouldn't have defended me, which got me to ask myself why. I guess I got so used to the fact that you always stood up for me that I didn't know how to do it for myself, and I started to figure that as long as you loved me, I was doing okay. That I was doing things all right.
Every time I see Dawn after she's spent the day with you, she makes sure to tell me that "Tara says she still loves you as much as ever." And if you still love me, even though you're not defending everything I do, does that mean you'll love me even if I can't manage to be perfect just for you? Can you really love me even if I make mistakes, or do stuff wrong?
Those are pretty stupid questions, and if I just close my eyes for a moment and dig down into my memories and my heart, I'm sure that the answer is yes.
So if the answer is yes, then you used to stand up for me because you wanted to help me. And if the answer is yes, then you're still trying to help me from wherever you are. I'm sure that you still love me--somehow I think I would be able to sense it if you didn't, even though it took me a while to cut through all the noise in my head and get in touch with that sense. And you loved me, which was why you always insisted on making sure I was warm and dry after one of our rainy walks. You wanted to take care of me. And if you still love me, you still want to take care of me, right?
Lately I've had a lot of time to just lie still and think, so I think I've got it figured out: the best way you can take care of me is to let me learn how to take care of myself. Like I did today when I came home from my walk. (Would you be proud of me for that?) To teach me that I can stand up for myself, that I don't need anyone else to prove to some random jerk that I'm not such a bad person. And to teach me that maybe I'm not such a bad person.
I'm starting to learn that, too. And I'm getting better, Tara, I really am. It got to the point where I was casting spells that made me so sick I tried to cast more just to keep myself standing and not-dizzy, which . . . well, you get it. Vicious cycle. Every time I used magick, I could feel my insides being ripped up and stirred around, and I hated every second of it, but I didn't know what else to do besides use more magick.
I got so sick that I couldn't get out of bed, and I'd lie there, somewhere just outside the consciousness city limits. I'd see images of you by my bed, looking scared and worried and helpless. It hurt me so much to see you that way, so I finally decided to do something about it.
This has been the hardest and most frightening thing I've ever faced, and it's even harder without you here with me. And coming from someone who's grown up on the Hellmouth, that's a hell of a thing to say! But I'm beating it, baby . . . I am. It's kinda slow going and every now and then I slip up.
And if I can do this . . . if I can make it through, then I think I can make it through anything. But I don't want to face the rest of my life without you. I'm not just fighting this problem because I love you, but also because I want to be worthy of the kind of love you've shown me. I want to be someone who can give you her heart without reservation, whom you can trust with your heart, and who can be just as strong as you are. Otherwise I'll end up just leaning on you forever and dragging you down. You deserve better than that. And what I want, more than anything, is to give you everything you deserve. To make you smile. Make you happy. And from now on, if I get the chance to do that for you, I'm gonna do it the not-too-easy way.
I'd better get going, baby . . . I'm kinda getting warm and toasty under the covers now (even if it is kinda lonely) and the hot chocolate's making me all drowsy. Otherwise I'm gonna start babbling incoherently. I know you think it's cute when I do that out loud, but in reality it's not so cute when it comes out on the paper in a funny looking non-alphabetical scribbly line. 'Cause that just turns out to be a headache when you try and read it. I know, 'cause I tried to write you last night when I was barely awake. It turned out looking sorta like one of those Jackson Pollock paintings in your art history books, with the different colors and everything, since I thought I'd be quirky and use my colored pen system that you like so much. Anyway, I should get some sleep, and I know you'd want me to. You always told me sleep was good for my health when I was trying to get better.
So good night, my sweet, darling Tara . . . I need my rest so I can finish whipping this addiction of mine. (Wow, I actually said it . . . it seems so much more real when I can write that word down and look at it.) And maybe, when I open my eyes, I'll be that much closer to seeing you again.
I think the rain will stop soon . . . I hope so. I really miss being in the sunlight. 'Cause you know, that's what you are to me.
I love you.
-- Willow