HOME | DD

Description
I didn't think of you the last time it stormed here. I didn't think much of anything, actually. Under my duvet, with the curtains and windows wide open, the sound of random splashing in the streets caught me off guard. It had been sunny and sweltering hot only hours before.

Somehow I ended up on the sidewalk, clad only in my nightclothes. Tiny pebbles dug into my heels as I splashed through the puddles, heart and feet exposed. I think I might've been crying, it was hard to tell. Rain tastes a lot like tears.

The sky was cloudy and grey when you finally gathered the courage to end it.

It seemed that the days following were painted with a similar brush, in that same shade of miserable grey. They stretched, endless, those deliberate hours of sloppy transition. Days and nights were the same. One voice spoke for the whole world. And all of the words jumbled together, one ominous echo in my head.

You shot out excuses masked in reason, your eyes and mine watering with the initial sting. I listened without knowing what to think or say, ears buzzing.

You walked me home earlier that day. In hindsight, I think I saw you preparing the speech in your head. I was frightened to ask what you were thinking. So I pointed at the sky and sighed, tired-- the clouds were setting in. I told you that I wished the sun would return soon. You wanted the rain.

It ruined the beauty for me, tainted it with your image. Every time the rain fell, I begged to be cleansed, but your words imposed on the process before it even had a chance to begin. Your memory was a cancer in my bloodstream, going straight to my head, so that all I could think of was your last stupid wish, and of mine. That one that I made every night for weeks afterwards, that you would come to your senses and realize that I was actually what you wanted. That I was as precious as a storm.

Eventually, I turned the impression over in my mind so many times that it filled itself in. The scent of rainwater would still trigger a certain amount of regret, but was quickly forgotten.

And now, it's come down to this. When last night I spun, the world dizzy with thunder and lightning, I realized that thinking you want to be free isn't enough to stop the hurt. Knowing that no matter what situation you're in can change fast as a flash, knowing that a downpour can solidify as much as destroy...

That means knowing I don't need you.

Description
I didn't think of you the last time it stormed here. I didn't think much of anything, actually. Under my duvet, with the curtains and windows wide open, the sound of random splashing in the streets caught me off guard. It had been sunny and sweltering hot only hours before.

Somehow I ended up on the sidewalk, clad only in my nightclothes. Tiny pebbles dug into my heels as I splashed through the puddles, heart and feet exposed. I think I might've been crying, it was hard to tell. Rain tastes a lot like tears.

The sky was cloudy and grey when you finally gathered the courage to end it.

It seemed that the days following were painted with a similar brush, in that same shade of miserable grey. They stretched, endless, those deliberate hours of sloppy transition. Days and nights were the same. One voice spoke for the whole world. And all of the words jumbled together, one ominous echo in my head.

You shot out excuses masked in reason, your eyes and mine watering with the initial sting. I listened without knowing what to think or say, ears buzzing.

You walked me home earlier that day. In hindsight, I think I saw you preparing the speech in your head. I was frightened to ask what you were thinking. So I pointed at the sky and sighed, tired-- the clouds were setting in. I told you that I wished the sun would return soon. You wanted the rain.

It ruined the beauty for me, tainted it with your image. Every time the rain fell, I begged to be cleansed, but your words imposed on the process before it even had a chance to begin. Your memory was a cancer in my bloodstream, going straight to my head, so that all I could think of was your last stupid wish, and of mine. That one that I made every night for weeks afterwards, that you would come to your senses and realize that I was actually what you wanted. That I was as precious as a storm.

Eventually, I turned the impression over in my mind so many times that it filled itself in. The scent of rainwater would still trigger a certain amount of regret, but was quickly forgotten.

And now, it's come down to this. When last night I spun, the world dizzy with thunder and lightning, I realized that thinking you want to be free isn't enough to stop the hurt. Knowing that no matter what situation you're in can change fast as a flash, knowing that a downpour can solidify as much as destroy...

That means knowing I don't need you.