You used to call me rain, you used to call me rain and smile, your eyes got small, and your smile grew wider, that image, it was painted perfectly in my head, when I close my eyes, I sometimes still see it, that image. That flawless image.
You used to call me rain, was it because I reminded you of what it's like to be alive, was it because sometimes I fell, fell ever so gently on your skin, and the veins in your hands grew bluer and bluer, and you spread your hands wide as you embraced me, falling on every inch of your body, you closed your eyes, you felt alive.
Or was it because that sometimes when I fell, I fell too hard, I excpected your arms to spread wider for me, I excpected you to embrace me, but instead, I flooded the very streets you stood in, I flooded your life, I almost drowned you, I almost murdered you, you couldn't possibly embrace me anymore.
I was no longer the rain you knew.
I was no longer the rain you loved.
You stopped calling me rain.
And my clouds stopped forming.
I never fell again.
YOU ARE READING
Rosētum
PoetryHere lie the roses, the roses that are the foundation of my rose garden, pluck them gingerly, here lie the roses that grew full of toxins and purity. Here lies my heart, My Rosetūm. All pictures in the story are mine!
