My heart weeps like the rain outside my window. Tears nourishing me deep into my roots so I may be quenched when the sun once again beats its heat and rays upon me. I write poetry I’ll never share and feel grateful for a line; a single line that someone wrote to me. I scroll Facebook and see memes, quotes and poems that touch me as if the algorithms know exactly what I need:
“I love the gentle kind
of sadness like a reminder
that I can feel”
Feel it, I will, and feel it, I must. Who would have ever known how painful and incredibly marvellous it can be to let one’s self feel. To embrace the hurt and know that it’s just love. It’s all the love I want to give and cannot so I reroute it to myself. I hold myself. I comfort myself and I am glad, I’m glad that I’m finally here with me.
I will kiss the rain. I will let it drench me. My tears merging with the rivers on the side of the roadway, pirouetting down the drainpipe, on their way to join the endless sea where they’ll no longer be lonely. I will write my poetry that the one it’s for may never read and I’ll acknowledge that in this moment, in these feelings, in these words, I am at peace. Oh! How words can heal me.
Partly inspired by this poem I saw while scrolling: