RAIN ON HOLLOW STREETS

 

Rain on the Hollow Streets  

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The streets glisten,

Plastered with rain that falls in relentless sheets,

A silver curtain shimmering under sodium lights,

Droplets exploding on asphalt like tiny bombs,

Blurring the world into a watercolor smear.

I squint through the downpour,

Barely able to see the path ahead,

Headlights fracturing in the wet haze,

Puddles rippling under my faltering steps—

Each one a mirror reflecting nothing but shadow,

A void where your face used to glow.

The air bites cold,

Soaked through my coat,

And I’m adrift,

A lone figure swallowed by the storm’s roar.  

Tonight, someone else’s arms cradle you,

Their warmth a shelter against the deluge,

A fortress of skin and breath I can’t breach.

Do you feel safe now,

Nestled in that embrace,

Your heartbeat steady against another’s chest?

I wonder if their touch erases me,

If their whispers drown the echo of my name,

If the rain tapping their roof

Feels like a lullaby I never sang.

The thought gnaws,

A splinter lodged deep,

And the streets stretch emptier still,

Washed clean of us,

Drenched in the silence you left behind.  

This bed sprawls before me,

A quiet, desolate expanse—

Sheets crumpled like a battlefield,

Pillows slumped, deflated,

The mattress sagging under the weight of memory.

It looks so empty,

A cavern carved by your absence,

The imprint of you still pressed into the fabric—

A ghost of your shape,

Cool to the touch where your heat once lingered.

I stand at its edge,

Feet rooted to the floorboards,

Unable to convince myself to step inside—

The quiet is too loud,

The emptiness too vast,

A sea I can’t swim without drowning.

Not without you,

Not without the anchor of your weight beside me.  

The rain hammers the window,

A staccato beat against the glass,

Each drop a taunt,

A reminder of the shelter I’ve lost.

I see you there,

In someone else’s arms,

Safe, maybe smiling,

While I’m out here,

Soaked to the bone,

The streets my only companion—

Their slick shine a mockery of comfort,

Their cold a mirror to the chill in my chest.

I could climb into this bed,

Pull the covers tight,

But it’s a tomb without you,

A hollow shell where sleep won’t come,

Where dreams would only replay

The moment you slipped away.  

I linger in the doorway,

The rain’s rhythm a cruel metronome,

Counting the hours since you were mine.

The streets stretch on outside,

An endless labyrinth of wet and dark,

And I wonder if you hear the storm,

If it whispers my name in your new refuge,

If you feel the pull of this empty bed

Across the miles that divide us.

I can’t step in,

Can’t lie down in this quiet ruin,

Not without your breath to fill the silence,

Your warmth to chase the cold,

Your presence to make this house

More than a shell plastered with rain,

More than a mausoleum