Between Silence

During the rain - in the silence that follows each raindrop - I hear a memory. I hear my husband whispering "He's gone." 

Raw. We're still so raw. 

I think I keep on tearing my heart out here so I won't do it in reality. In public, I can hold it together until I can write it out. Then it's a river. 

Raindrops. He's gone. Raw. 

It's a pain like.. When you hold your breathe until your chest burns. That's the closest feeling I can think to relate.