It is always raining here,
not water, but time—
dripping, slipping,
pooling in places
I do not recognize.
I stand in it,
let it soak my skin,
but nothing washes away.
My intuition whispers,
a quiet urgency in the dark—
change is coming,
or maybe it has already passed,
and I was too lost to notice.
I reach for the storyline,
but it frays in my hands.
I speak, but the words
c
r
u
m
b
l
e,
as if they were
never mine
to begin with.
Love once stood here,
steady,
breathing,
certain.
Now it is a shadow—
just beyond my grasp,
thinning with
each breath you take.
You ask me questions,
and I try to answer,
but the syllables twist
before they leave my lips.
My brain is glitching.
It tells me stories
that don’t belong to me.
It rewrites the truth
before I can hold onto it.
I fear I am forgetting,
not just you—
but myself,
my thoughts,
the language of my own existence.
Like a c h i l d,
learning to speak for the first time,
I fumble through strange words,
trying to shape meaning
from a world that no longer fits.
Tell me again—
who am I?
Who were we?
And will I remember
before the last light fades?
Perhaps—
this is what it feels like
to dissolve
into the
r a i n.