The rain falls like a secret the sky can no longer keep,
each drop a confession whispered against the trembling earth.
You and I stand beneath its silver curtain,
where the world grows softer, quieter,
as if every storm were made only to shelter us.
The air smells of longing,
wet soil and tender ache,
and I wonder if love has always been written
in the rhythm of water meeting ground—
a melody that repeats, yet never loses its wonder.
Your hand brushes mine,
and even through the storm’s chill,
I feel the warmth of something unshakable.
It is as though the rain is not falling upon us,
but flowing through us,
turning our silence into rivers that carry
all the words we dare not say.
Some claim the rain is sorrow,
but with you it feels like renewal—
as though the sky has chosen this moment
to baptize our fragile hearts,
washing away fear,
leaving behind only the courage to love.
And if the storm never ends,
I would not mind.
For every drop would be another promise,
another chance to fall,
not into despair—
but into you.
