After the rain.
Too early mornings with a cold breath,
or then,
standing and staring into the descending sun,
feet sinking deeply into the soft dust below
and a mild wind,
wild mind,
a loud mind,
but hurtfully silent lips,
choking on the words I want to say,
thoughts wandering off,
off to dark but open space,
and to the lines you left on my skin
and in my life.
Watching birds fading behind the horizon
and white clouds holding back the light.
Wondering what it means to hold on,
or to let go,
although I have sent you away,
and a long time ago,
you still linger
in this crisp air,
in those quiet moments
and the fog in my brain.
You burn in my vains,
but only a little.
Beautiful scars
are your imprint on my soul.
And a particular sadness that
cannot fade,
Not quite,
probably never,
never the less.
After the rain.
You fall with de drops
and pass with the wind
like you were always meant to
and I was always meant to
let the sun dry my skin.
My spirits will raise again,
stepping out of my shelter,
which has never been there,
and accepting what’s left of the pain,
staring with bright eyes
and a warm heart
at all the wonders

P.s. awful but in awe.


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