I trace your shape with trembling line,
On misted glass with fingertip.
The rain has blurred what once was mine,
Dissolving dreams that used to slip.
It washed away each whispered plea,
And tore the verses from the page.
Outside, the city sighs with me,
Drenched in a melancholy stage.
While streets are drowning in regret,
And sorrow drips from every wall,
All I have left — this silhouette
That on the glass begins to fall.
You're walking now through foreign rain,
Beneath some stranger's sheltered skies.
While I remain with silent pain—
Just raindrop whispers, dreamlike sighs.
I know you breathe a different air
Where wet boulevards stretch and gleam.
But I am left with ghosts to spare—
Your heart... your shadow… and the steam.
Apr 12, 2025
Apr 12, 2025 at 4:35 PM UTC
I trace your shape with trembling line,
On misted glass with fingertip.
The rain has blurred what once was mine,
Dissolving dreams that used to slip.
It washed away each whispered plea,
And tore the verses from the page.
Outside, the city sighs with me,
Drenched in a melancholy stage.
While streets are drowning in regret,
And sorrow drips from every wall,
All I have left — this silhouette
That on the glass begins to fall.
You're walking now through foreign rain,
Beneath some stranger's sheltered skies.
While I remain with silent pain—
Just raindrop whispers, dreamlike sighs.
I know you breathe a different air
Where wet boulevards stretch and gleam.
But I am left with ghosts to spare—
Your heart... your shadow… and the steam.
