Count the residue on my fingers.
The droplets look translucent yet
they used to be a storm.
I never claimed sunny days forever;
happiness and peace were merely
ideas we clung onto—
what is left afterwards?
A telephone pole where the messages
never end.
I eventually decided
to cut communication.
Never again will I rewire
something so beautiful.
I don't need it;
I only need its meaning.
What will happen after I reached my journey's peak?
I'll count the residue on my fingers
and infuse the droplets with history.
YOU ARE READING
It's Raining Outside
Poetry[Completed] 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃. I don't know how else to say this, but... 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐬; 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧�...
