rain sketches soft lines
across the glass —
each drop a small beginning,
a thought without a voice.
the world moves slower
when it rains.
cars blur into whispers,
colors melt into one another,
and time forgets its name.
I walk without reason,
umbrella closed,
letting the sky rest on my shoulders.
it feels like forgiveness —
gentle, unspoken,
real.
people rush past
in small storms of their own,
each carrying a silence
too heavy to share.
but mine is light —
it hums like a secret
that doesn’t need telling.
the pavement mirrors everything:
the streetlights,
the pulse of puddles,
the me I meet only in rain.
alone doesn’t ache tonight.
it breathes.
it expands,
fills the cracks between raindrops
and waits with me
in the stillness after sound.
and when the rain stops—
I don’t.
I stay,
listening
to the echo
of being enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment