what comes after the rain?

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍?

(you sounded like the first droplets of May; a god-given grace for the long months of summer. a daydream & a reality all at once; the faultlines on my soil (and my soul) welcomed you, unwarily and innocent. but just like summer, you've gone as fast.)

𝐢. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑—when the clouds rip their bodies open, when both of your skins have produced too much friction, it burned beyond what was only allowed. it will shaken the remaining silence in between thousand put up prayers of make-believe. the reverberation will deafen you enough to understand that the silence still speaks of his name.

𝐢𝐢. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐄—when oceans accept too much of what it cannot hold, when there were too much phrases left at the bottom of your throat, scraping your voice off (good thing because you were more than ready to beg). the northern monsoon cradles you, ironically gentle, like how his palms used to pacify your currents even when his hands were rough, and painful. it would flood an innocent city, probably a fond memory, because there was no other way to survive when you are drowning inside your body. because his memories are good at making sure that they are remembered.

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄—when the night stumbles upon a nearly forgotten letter of a sunlit pretense, when he learned the science of making your heart flutter, and he was good at it, too good he also discovered how to take it away from you. the aftermath lingers in between a damp concrete, a busy paseo, and it would be a quiet realization that everything else continues except you, that mondays are normal for others while you start the first seconds of the week with your chest cemented, hollow but heavy; he was so good at making you stay, you forgot how to walk away for yourself.

𝐢𝐯. 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐢𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓. the inability to process it had ended; the sudden change of daily schedule because some afternoons have been vacated. and it will linger the most—more than the thunder, the storm storge, and the drizzle. he prepared you for anything other than this. the leaving. the falling out of love. and the empty that happens after it.

— sometimes, i wonder if the rain reminds you of me, because it reminds me of you and how i should never have too much of what takes my breath away.

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