(no subject)
did you lose your dreams in the rain?
Summer was late and the rain paid to it a bitter elegy, falling like grace around us.
We huddled in a forgotten corner of the top floor of the library, surrounded in all views by stone and glass and pages filled with history, hatred, love and fear and sex. We huddled together less for warmth, which was sought by all on a day as still as this, and more to qualm the fear we both shared of being alone.
You held me and said that this might be the most beautiful moment of your life, regarding the cracks in the ceiling as masterpieces and the silence as a symphony. The windows were almost opaque with age and streaked with traces left by years and years of rain, too high to clean with ease. They were battered by the rain that hadn't ceased in hours, not since you woke up in the dark to hear the tapping that left you feeling safe and glad to be alone.
You traced patterns on my arms with your fingertips and told me a story about your past, and coupled with the raw honesty of the rain, it made me cry.
We laid together and I attempted to explain to you the similarity you held with those windows. You shared a certain strength, to withold all that rain for all those years. And after so many years of rain and tears you were left with streaks and hard to see through, and one is left to wonder what's on the other side. But when the sun shines through, you can be certain that through those years of wear are beams of light bright enough to pull you through.
I only wished your sun would shine more often.
The rain sang on, and we knew no more would we smell the birth that summer brought, that soon the winter would bring to the air the death that had eluded our teenage souls for so long.
And we breathed in symmetry with the scent of regret that flooded the preserved pages filled with yesterday's ideals, but we didn't read them. We settled for our own vague philosophies, attempting with little success to grasp the purpose of a world we didn't understand.
And the rain fell and the world ended and still we were there, just breathing, just existing in a world where it seemed so hard to do either.
You said you'd never seen such a beautiful moment, not in all of your eighteen years. And I let myself fold into your arms and for a small amount of time we were forever. We were the rain.
Summer was late and the rain paid to it a bitter elegy, falling like grace around us.
We huddled in a forgotten corner of the top floor of the library, surrounded in all views by stone and glass and pages filled with history, hatred, love and fear and sex. We huddled together less for warmth, which was sought by all on a day as still as this, and more to qualm the fear we both shared of being alone.
You held me and said that this might be the most beautiful moment of your life, regarding the cracks in the ceiling as masterpieces and the silence as a symphony. The windows were almost opaque with age and streaked with traces left by years and years of rain, too high to clean with ease. They were battered by the rain that hadn't ceased in hours, not since you woke up in the dark to hear the tapping that left you feeling safe and glad to be alone.
You traced patterns on my arms with your fingertips and told me a story about your past, and coupled with the raw honesty of the rain, it made me cry.
We laid together and I attempted to explain to you the similarity you held with those windows. You shared a certain strength, to withold all that rain for all those years. And after so many years of rain and tears you were left with streaks and hard to see through, and one is left to wonder what's on the other side. But when the sun shines through, you can be certain that through those years of wear are beams of light bright enough to pull you through.
I only wished your sun would shine more often.
The rain sang on, and we knew no more would we smell the birth that summer brought, that soon the winter would bring to the air the death that had eluded our teenage souls for so long.
And we breathed in symmetry with the scent of regret that flooded the preserved pages filled with yesterday's ideals, but we didn't read them. We settled for our own vague philosophies, attempting with little success to grasp the purpose of a world we didn't understand.
And the rain fell and the world ended and still we were there, just breathing, just existing in a world where it seemed so hard to do either.
You said you'd never seen such a beautiful moment, not in all of your eighteen years. And I let myself fold into your arms and for a small amount of time we were forever. We were the rain.