"The earth is crying out in pain," you'd say, every time it began to rain.
I always thought it silly but maybe it is true. The earth crying out a lament only you understood. The wind howling as if it were mirroring you. Each quake of the earth in sync with each shake of your shoulders as you mourned for it while it mourned for you.
Petrichor. Your beautiful chaotic scent that clings to me like a wildflower dressed in morning dew.
The wind still carries your scent;
the rain your perfume.
