I have a thing for rain
All the stories of pain
Shadows concealing your grief
A mysterious fury the soul
I have a thing for wind
All the mistakes of thirst
Secrecy trailing desire
A provocative tryst the skin
It has become unusually harder for me to create bittersweet stories which evoke a bit of melancholia ever since pain stopped knocking on my heart.
I am questioning myself if I could still feel something, anything—anger, bitterness, frustration, shame, love, sadness—towards some certain people in my life and how important that emotion is in our relationship, but I’m afraid at times I feel empty because there is nothing to feel.
I oppose being empty, my mind resists engaging at the very thought of it, my heart stubbornly refuses to believe it is real, that it could happen, especially to me.
I who have joined the bandwagon of cold people claiming they have empty hearts when they are really just lonely. I who turned sadness into art whenever tears reach the tip of my tongue, or even when tears haven’t come. I who became overly familiarized with pain that I recognize it in other people’s eyes and understand it with my heart. I who thinks of welcoming pain again in my life, just so I could divert my attention in feeling nothing when there could be everything, or even just a thing.
The rain used to make my ink bleed with pain, now I’m asking pain to make my ink bleed when it rains.
rain seeking attention
The clouds are gray, the wind is gushing, and the rain is seeking attention again. Much like how my heart has been throughout this year. If the seasons are an indication of how my heart will be, spring should be next to winter.
But darling, global warming is real, and it might take my heart forever.
Daily Post’s Hopeful.
The star closest to the moon anticipates this time of the day like any other star in the universe, when the moon is about to come out and stay with them. But his spot is the most coveted of all, he could bask in the glory of the most beautiful creature the stars have ever seen, the majestic moon.
Ever since this star learned that the sparks from his skin are the moon’s guide in finding her place, the star worked hard to shine more. Even though his brightness cannot be appreciated by the weird creatures below to which they shine for because it’s the moon they look at, it’s fine with him, for he knows that the moon appreciates him.
Appreciate. It has become the word he loathes the most. The moon appreciates him. The moon just appreciates him, unlike the sun she loves so much. The star could witness every day how the moon would linger so just she could gaze at the sun from afar. Then all the other stars would sleep because the sight is such a pity to behold, they don’t want to see the moon hurting—for the whole universe knows that the sun and the rain are seeing each other, no matter how forbidden their love is. And the sun wouldn’t even look at the majestic moon, the most beautiful creature the star has ever seen.
It’s ironic how the star would shine for the moon, how the moon would linger for the sun, how the sun and the rain would fight for their love, and how this weird creature below would root for the star.
It is proof enough that one’s existence in this universe would never go unnoticed, no matter how we think of it as such.
P.S. This story is connected with The Sun and The Rain. I also had a hard time looking for the photo’s source but my search led me here.
and i know for sure
when you say, my love,
you don’t think of me
but of the man you have
so i’ll wait for rain
to flood my senses
and drain my heart
to be free from pain
Daily Post’s Waiting.
The sun and the rain met earlier. He waited for her. They seldom see each other, and he misses her. Their love is one that you would call complicated, forbidden even.
What the rain dampens the sun dries up. When the rain arrives the sun fades out. But in times when they can no longer endure the rules of the universe, in times when they terribly miss each other, they defy their gods and misbehave.
Oh they make the sweetest pair when they meet. The searing heat of the sun breaks the frigid chill of the rain, making the perfect condition one could only wish.
Gentle, fine, steady. They make love like they can hold each other forever—not rushing it even though they don’t see much, couldn’t see much.
The sun and the rain met earlier. Their time was short, their relationship forbidden, but they love each other.
And somehow, that was enough.
A blank stare
at my window,
the cup of tea
sits on my lap.
A blank stare
at the note,
my mind vacant;
for you to arrive.
Daily Post’s Singin’ in the Rain.