When it rains I think of a different life.
The one where our trio ran across parking lots and stood under lampposts at dusk.
When we swore to be bound forever.
When it rains I remember a lonely hometown road.
Where the music in the car blared as I wept over someone who didn’t deserve it.
When the view outside displayed a lifting fog over fields of cruelty.
When it rains I feel the room spin and spin and spin.
Eyes clamped shut as the mind chants a spell to cut the noise.
When the dark is too heavy.
When it rains I think of love.
Between slipping hands and hurried steps and laughter.
When joy came to the forefront and the cold didn’t matter.
Mostly, when it rains I feel refreshed.
Like a cool mint kiss at sunset.
When the muscle of memory no longer stings and plagues and tugs.
When every drip and drop is a hand on the back, a familiar voice, a step into dreaming.
— J. S.