Rain

Today, the world was crying with me.

She misses her, too.

She's as good at hiding how much she's changed since that day as me.

People say the world goes on around us no matter our troubles and losses.

What if she's just so used to it that she's learned how to pretend like it didn't hurt?

Are the mountains and hills her calluses?

Is thunder her screams and moans of sorrow?

Are the dark clouds her frowns?

I don't find it a coincidence people hide away to find shelter when the world is upset and stormy when they do the same for me.

They wait until it's happy and warm outside to smile with the world while they play together.

No one tries to dry her tears, nor mine, for there are far too many.

No one stops the rain, and some even find it entertaining, as they splash through puddles.

Maybe there is no stopping her bad days.

Maybe all we can do is cry with her.

This poem is about: 
Me

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