real rain pours

Can you just take a moment to picture Magnus Bane, eighty years from now …

Standing by the grave of his beloved husband. Shaking, hunched over, face free of makeup and hair un-styled. Arms wrapped around his midsection as though the air has been punched from his gut. Eyes squeezed shut, holding back tears as he forces himself not to read the words written on the headstone. Because seeing them again makes it seem more real. Rain pouring over his forlorn figure, making him appear small and miserable. Dressed in a simple pair of jeans and an oversize, ragged black sweatshirt.

Picture him tearing off the sweatshirt and hurling it into the mud, sobbing and beating it into the ground. Losing all control for a moment and being consumed by the agony of his lost love. Then looking down and the filthy, soaked bundle of fabric and picking it up. Pressing it to his nose and inhaling deeply, searching for a forgotten scent, but only finding the smell of mud and rainwater. Dismayed for a moment, then pulling it into his chest as though it’s the last piece of his husband he has left.

I’m sorry.

But also …

Refusing to sleep in his bed for years after because he doesn’t want to lose the lingering smell of his lover from the pillows and sheets.

Tessa showing up at his apartment a few days after the incident and holding a sobbing Magnus in her arms, comforting him just as he comforted her so many decades ago. Sharing the raw pain and grief of a lost love.

Blue going from his favorite color to his least favourite in a matter of days.

Left with the pain of happy memories, remembering how he had always been strong, handsome, and perfect no matter how much he aged. Remembering how his eyes had never lost their beautiful hue of blue.

Missing Alexander Lightwood so much it hurts.

i love the weather when you’re sitting on a park bench with a chicken burger and a sprite and the air smells like a brewing storm and a flock of wild birds.
but the storm has the curtesy not to let down just yet because you’re about to go read a book in the library and didnt bring a jacket for the walk home.
i like lying in bed at home and feeling the thunder vibrate through me and tasting the drops of rain that have escaped through the fly screen on my window.
i love thunder still demanding to be present and heard, even when it’s already raining. 
i want to want to feel present and heard even when it’s already raining.