Friday, 30 September 2016

Love Letter To The Rain

Landscapes by Diego Berro , via Behance:
Landscapes by Diego Berro
Just something I wrote in History Class. Interpret it as you will.

I like it when the sky gets angry,
And bristles at the slightest touch.
Screaming,
But quietly.
Eyes flashing,
But it isn’t scary yet.
Now he’s losing his patience,
Even though he’s tried so hard. He curls his fists in frustration,
And he lets out an incredibly loud sigh.
The earth looks up to see what’s wrong,
But he is beyond reach now.
He tries to reason with himself,
Tells himself he’s okay.
But he’s not.
His eyes are fighting pretty insistent tears,
And his mouth is set in a scowl.
He is so beautiful when he’s angry,
I want to sit here and watch him all day.
Especially when he loses control
- control he’s caged within himself with all the manacles that he could find.
His tears flow freely now.
His body shakes in wrath.
His anger is so beautiful, it’s like a hurricane of feelings and all of the loveliness in the world has flocked to his face.
He doesn’t like me seeing him this way,
But I don’t mind.
I crave.
I crave to watch himself lose himself.
Maybe it’s cruel, maybe it’s incredibly selfish.
Maybe.
But all I want is to bathe myself in the rain of tears he sends down.
To drown myself in his grief.
To maybe forget my own.
And then, we can hold each other.
He can shed all the tears I am unable to.
He can lean on me and I can absorb all of his grief.
Add it to mine.
My, aren’t we an odd pair?
You try so hard not to feel.
I crave to feel something real.
Maybe we secretly resent each other.
But it’s alright.
It has to be.
Because your grief is beautiful and I don’t resent you that.
And maybe one day, I will cringe when I hear your thunder.
I dread those days.
Because you make me happy.
So very happy.
And I don’t know how to feel about that.
But it’s the only real thing I feel.
Am I that young though?
And yet, I feel so much older than you sometimes.
You, who are eons older.
Perhaps it’s because your smile  looks so new.
Unlike any other I have ever seen.
But your kisses are so young.
But I know that you aren’t young.
No matter how ever much it may seem so.
I know.
I know.
And I wish I didn’t.
Because one day I’ll be gone.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe a hundred years from now.
But I’ll be gone.
And maybe you’ll grieve me.
And I hate that I might add to your burden.
But you will move on.
Because that’s what life does, I’m told.
And I hate that.
I don’t want you to forget me.
I don’t want you to comfort someone else.
I don’t want you to come undone on someone else’s shoulder
I don’t want anyone to know what it’s like to be loved by you.
And I hate myself for thinking like that.
Because you of all people deserve what we have.
Maybe even more.
So much more.
So much more.
But move on you will.
You’ll find another broken girl,
Or another broken boy.
They’ll be so much lovelier than I have ever been
And they won’t be able to help themselves and love you.
And perhaps I’ll be your summer memory.
Warm.
Nice.
Maybe not.
But I don’t regret a thing.
Don’t forget that.

Yours,
Zoe Summers

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