It’s raining again—soft at first,
like a whisper across the glass,
a hush that folds the world in gray,
and smooths the edges of the past.
The sky forgets its promises,
and spills its heart without regret,
each drop a small confession made,
for things the sun could not forget.
The streets begin their secret songs,
their puddles bloom like silver veins,
umbrellas bloom, and footsteps fade,
to join the rhythm of the rain.
It’s raining again—and somehow still,
I find a comfort in the ache,
for every storm that’s come before
has washed what I could not unmake.
So let it fall—let windows blur,
let thunder hum its low refrain;
the world begins again each time—
it’s raining, softly, once again.
Therapy Bits 
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