It's raining again,
and the days have turned dreary without you.
The hibiscus flowers hang low,
drenched in tears,
and all I do is stand outside,
letting the weeping sky engulf me.
It's November, cold,
yet my heart is burning into ashes.
I feel the embers,
the smoke rising in form of memories, words—
However much my heart burns,
I'm left in the dark, where mirrors are fogged
and there's no one to hold me.
This year will end,
many more Novembers will come and go,
and I will turn old with every passing day.
But this yearning, this stubborn passion to find love—
Will it ever diminish like it never existed?
Or will it haunt me forever?
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 3:51 AM UTC
It's raining again,
and the days have turned dreary without you.
The hibiscus flowers hang low,
drenched in tears,
and all I do is stand outside,
letting the weeping sky engulf me.
It's November, cold,
yet my heart is burning into ashes.
I feel the embers,
the smoke rising in form of memories, words—
However much my heart burns,
I'm left in the dark, where mirrors are fogged
and there's no one to hold me.
This year will end,
many more Novembers will come and go,
and I will turn old with every passing day.
But this yearning, this stubborn passion to find love—
Will it ever diminish like it never existed?
Or will it haunt me forever?
