The trees are drooping with the weight of your reasons.
There’s an eerie silence to the rain falling; the kind of silence that followed your departure.
My mind’s all over the place, resembling the people running for shelter under large awnings placed in front of fancy buildings.
This downfall is the symbol of moving on. Winter’s gone, now the rain’s just washing away any trace you left on this small town.
Although this metaphor’s deceiving, because while these streets are free of you, my mind will never fully be.
I was starting to think I’d never retrieve my breath from your possession; that amongst other things you took.
But here in this very moment, I’m watching the windshield wipers on speeding cars move swiftly over the glass.
It occurred to me nothing is permanent, no matter how imperishable it seems.
The clouds quickly replenish the glass with fresh water, and I realize that sooner or later, I will be replenished as well.
Your mind changed with the seasons, I suppose its nature’s cycle.
First sign of the sun will symbolize my recovery. You’re a sickness, a crippling disease:
But I’ve discovered an antidote.