The gray sky covered like a blanket, but not a cozy one.
Instead, scratchy and uncomfortable.
The water poured from the sky as if someone was up there, emptying buckets from above, full of sharp drops.
It all pooled at the entrance to the musty porch, just as it always did.
It stopped raining outside for a bit, but still the rain came down inside.
I was able to sleep some and eat a little.
But the sun never showed up and the rain came again and again.
“It’s a metaphor for my life”, I said, as you sat in the chair across the room with that look on your face.
The one that says your tired and broken-hearted.
Then you left.
You returned, only to leave again…
The rain and the leaving, they go together.
If only it could wash away the past and take with it all the pain and the words and the hurt.
But it cannot.
I know the sun will shine again, I’m just not sure through which window.
*I wrote this last winter. I am feeling much better now and the sun is shining a lot, both in real life and metaphorically. 😀