I barely feel the cold glass
as my head leans against the pane.
Rain blurs my reflection,
the day echoing back my own
cold, hollow, brokenness.
I’m wrapped in an old blanket
your scent now barely clings to,
as I sit and watch the cars below passing by.
Those cars, those people
all have places to go
and I
I sit here alone.
The world moved on but I can’t,
the rain keeps falling like my tears,
the day drowns with me.
I was starting to move on,
no longer looking for your face
in the strangers that I met
or the places we would go.
But on a cold grey day like this one,
your memory comes flooding back,
and my world is once again
stripped of color
and the vibrance of life.
And I grieve again
the loss of us:
of what was
what could have been
and what will never be,
all because you chose to leave
on a cold grey day like this one.
Oct 6, 2025
Oct 6, 2025 at 7:40 AM UTC
I barely feel the cold glass
as my head leans against the pane.
Rain blurs my reflection,
the day echoing back my own
cold, hollow, brokenness.
I’m wrapped in an old blanket
your scent now barely clings to,
as I sit and watch the cars below passing by.
Those cars, those people
all have places to go
and I
I sit here alone.
The world moved on but I can’t,
the rain keeps falling like my tears,
the day drowns with me.
I was starting to move on,
no longer looking for your face
in the strangers that I met
or the places we would go.
But on a cold grey day like this one,
your memory comes flooding back,
and my world is once again
stripped of color
and the vibrance of life.
And I grieve again
the loss of us:
of what was
what could have been
and what will never be,
all because you chose to leave
on a cold grey day like this one.