the rain
We don’t know each other
but we know the rain:
we know the sound it makes
as the raindrops hit the ground;
the patter it makes on the conservatory roof—
it makes us all the same
as we trudge through puddles, drenched and cold,
whilst we go about our fake, miserable lives.
But I want to know you better than I know the rain—
I want to feel your touch on me,
like gentle rain falling onto my palm.
Somewhere along the way, the rain became too powerful,
and my note to you was damaged;
taken by the wind and left to drown in a gutter,
alongside my silenced feelings.
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