Rain

image

They fall steadily, silently.
You only see them if you stare hard enough.
Colourless. Grasp-less. They slip through your fingers. Run down your body.

You feel them before you hear them.
Drinking you in,
your senses.
A cold patch blossoms,
holding your outer skin together
like no one else can,
staining,
soaking,
drenching,
pulling you down soon enough.

Weightless streams
remind you of the weights on your shoulders,
under your skin,
in your soles.

You trudge on,
unable to escape it.
It falls.
And turns everything around you a shade darker.
Clouds your vision,
Above,
In front.
Below, it collects in crevices and pools,
the pieces of yourself,
a fractured prism.

You look up as it plummets your face,
whispering,
begging:
Wash my sins
Clean.

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