Paint

they told me a lover of the rain is a lover of impossible ends, they said the rain only falls to watch life shivering at it's own fragility

maybe they're right, but I still wish they would know, how the rain lies down to embrace an empty appetite like mine

with it's soft drizzle, I'm reminded of my father's deliberate anecdotes, the curl of stories that settled in warmth deep in my bones

with it's heavy fall, I hear my lover's generous laughter, the one that carried the stars home, the one that always sees the beautiful parts of me

with it's grasp of lightening, an early  memory fills me, of my mother's tender touch at the edge of sleep, spilling Surat Yasin to drown out my fears

the rain holds so many of my memories, aloud and alive for my heart to always remember; that even in endings beauty still remains