Some nights, the rain drops get too talkative.
Those are the days that my mind quietens down for it likes to hear about you.
Blurred down the lanes of weak memory, I recall faded events; that rainy evening when I finally packed my things. The bags were heavy, the heart light. I’d quietly walked out from her memories.
I’d quietly walked out from her memories wondering how I’d deal with mine. That night, the rain drenched me, and I knew.