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.