Just Rain

No romance in this rain.

No gentle patter, no cleansing wash.

Just a flat, grey curtain

unrolling from the sky.

It's been two days.

The world outside my window

a blurred watercolor.

The gutters choke,

the drainpipe gurgles,

a constant, dull roar.

The trees drip, heavy,

their leaves dark and bruised.

It’s not poetic, it’s just

wet. And cold.

A dampness that seeps

into the bones,

makes the air feel thick

and heavy with unsaid things.

Just rain.

And the quiet, steady ache

of being alone.