You were the sun, she was the moon, and I was the rain.
You, the sun,
would rise every morning, sometimes accompanied by the most
beautiful array of colors, other times with dark clouds so deep,
suffocating—your rays couldn't even attempt to shine through.
She, the moon,
would go away every morning, just as you were rising,
because she knew that you would be too busy fantasizing about
the mysterious rain that you could never love her liked she wanted you to.
I, the rain,
would come and go, loud and soft, hard and gentle.
I never saw you, the sun, give off your beautiful, majestic colors
because whenever I would come, clouds would shield you from
being able to send me your love in the form of tremendous hues
that would have made me stay in love with you forever.
If it weren't for the rain, maybe the sun would have fallen in love with the moon.
If it weren't for the clouds, maybe the rain would have stayed in love with the sun.
But the moon shines brighter alone in the night sky than it ever would next to the sun,
and the sun is much more beautiful without the rain.
That is why the rain went away.
It had fallen in love with the sun because it felt like the sun was
the only thing that had also experienced the storm, but the
difference between the sun and the rain is the sun shined after each storm.
But the rain disappeared.
The rain could never see the sun shine.
