Rain

The doors are opening and slamming shut
in time with the cracks of thunder,
and the scent of rain is traveling through the house
passing beside me,
taking me by the arms
and tracing my hands against the walls
as if I were a child again,
but nostalgia is not here today,
and I feel nothing today.

I pass the chair where you used to sit,
where you'd fall asleep,
maybe dream of me?
I'll never know,
but I run down the stairs
stumble on the last few steps,
search the kitchen through pots and pans,
fruits, ladles, and pasta;
anything to get away,
but liberation is not here today,
and I feel nothing today.

My stomach is killing me,
and my head isn't much better,
my heart might as well join in on the fun,
so I swing open the back door,
and feel the stinging raindrops stab my skin,
and while my hair clinging to my face,
soaked with mother nature and woe,
I scream, 'Can you smell the rain where you are? '
But you are not here today,
and I feel nothing today.

by Alyssa Taylor

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