Raining Love - Poem

The balcony breathes with me,

a slow, uneven lung of concrete and rust.

Clouds drag their heavy bellies across the sky,

and I can almost hear them groan.


Your absence is a weather system of its own—

a storm folded quietly inside my ribs,

where thunder is memory

and lightning is regret.


The rain begins, not as drops,

but as thin silver threads,

pulling the daylight apart

like fabric worn too thin.


I lean back and watch—

the world dissolves into watercolor shadows,

and your face appears in every blur,

half-formed, as though the sky

cannot decide if it wants you real.


Even the sparrows are mute today,

their wings beating against silence,

their small bodies like thoughts

I cannot finish.


I miss you in strange metaphors:

like a mirror missing its reflection,

like a garden missing its bees,

like a song missing

the very air it needs to exist.


And still, the balcony holds me,

an anchor for a drifting mind,

while the clouds fold and unfold above me,

as if they too

are trying to remember your name.

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