It is raining.
Water is dripping from the sky.
I am nowhere here on Earth. Standing probably somewhere I cannot figure out. My weak limbs are still standing despite its unending desire to give up, to fall down, to lay down on the streets. One step and I can almost hear my every single bone crunching. Muscles stretching, almost saying "Enough, please."
It is raining.
Water from above is falling on me.
I am bold, here in the middle of the rain, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of everyone. Looking down, I see the reflection of a lady- pale skin, exhausted, weak, lost-, almost dead. Shame. Shame.
Here, I am visible to everyone. My wounds and scars must be visible. "Yes! I am hurt. I am in pain. I am broken. I need help." I want to scream, but my insides will not be able to handle it. My energy will not be enough to even whisper those words.
It is raining.
Tears are dripping from my eyes.
I see a girl, dancing through the fire. Lost. Wild. Fun. Dancing through the rain. Amusing. Stormy. Fay. Her eyes reflect those dreamy stars, twinkling, like her bright dreams. Her smile, reflects that of the curved moon, auspicious, as if saying that everything will be okay. I know her, that I am sure of, only I have already forgotten how and where.
It is raining.
That night, I realized I lost people.
Moments, minutes, or even hours of breakdown occurs to me like some sort of a repeated song. Once a week or twice a month, at least. When such thing happens, I often find myself in darkness, thus, free to be vulnerable. In those times however, I don't even know what I don't know. I don't even understand what I don't understand. Never did I confront myself before, thinking that it would pass, anyway. There was once though that it came and struck me, hard. Obviously, there was no clear reason. I had to find answers in me and it was simple. I realized then, I've been losing people and I've been longing for human interaction. It was crazy to believe that I would be fine without communication.
It is raining.
I used to love the rain.
Cold days used to be the best. A cup of coffee and a book used to be the best remedy. Only if it does not bring back another memories. Only if it does not bring you back. Only if I am perfectly fine. Only if. Only if. If.
It is raining.
It was raining then.
You were dancing with the girl, in the middle of the rain. Cheeky eyes and wide smile. Your hair bouncing as you danced through the indefinable rhythm. Your eyes fitted perfectly with the girl in front of you- dreamy.
It is raining.
It was raining then.
You both know what it was, only having no chance to define, to utter, to say the word. It was not a word, it was a feeling. A feeling that is already buried in your memories.
It is raining.
It was raining then.
I saw the girl. Running away from you. Running away from me. Running fast until I lost sight of her. She was gone before I even found out. And all that was left is her weak, dying vessel. And all that was left is me.
It is raining.
It was a dark night.
She lost herself. Or she has long been lost. She was sorry for all the hurt she had caused. She was sorry for herself, too. She was sorry for me.
It is raining.
It is a dark road, a dark world. It is a lonely path which is nowhere to be found on Earth.
I am lost- she is, too- and am still waiting to be found by you.