Tears of Rain

 

Sometimes I see myself,

alone in the street, the asphalt bruised and blue beneath my feet. I do not move. I do not look for shelter. I just stand there, waiting for nothing.

The sky breaks open, black clouds spilling their fury, lightning tearing the horizon apart. Thunder answers with a voice so much stronger than mine, reminding me how small I am.

The rain comes heavy, each drop striking harder

than the last apology I’ll never believe. It covers my face,

hides the tears I can’t seem to stop.

No one can tell the difference anymore—

not even me.

Sometimes I hope for storms. Not because they heal, not because they wash the world clean, but because they press me down into the ground where I belong.

The rain wins.

It always wins.