winter has left and it took him with it,
along with my sanity and understanding.
and you would think spring would bloom flowers,
but i only see myself wilting and shaking.
winter may be gone, but the winds inside of me are still screaming;
more often than not i'm left clutching my heart in the middle of the night
crying because the rain of spring never really did make it's appearance,
and I'm lost.
There's something about the smell after the rain;
you know, the kind where all feels as if it's been washed away
and made new again? That's what I needed.
Droplets formed on the windows of the car,
as did they on my cheeks while his arms wrapped around me;
his head resting on mine like clouds during rain or shine.
Tonight, I was a thunderstorm.
He was always my rain;
sometimes he was a drought, sometimes he was a weekly storm;
but he was always my rain.
My sorrows were puddling into my hands,
my mind the heavy fog of a late March night,
and my heart a huge pothole in the middle of the road.
It's 12:45 and my clothes smell like him;
it's the smell after the rain;
didn't think I could drown in so many ways.
I'm stuck in the rain,
but i wish it was his cloud.
NJ2015