Rain Didn’t Wash It Away

It rained
the night you left.

Hard.
Like the sky
was breaking
with me.

I waited
by the door
just in case
you’d turn back.

You didn’t.

The drops
slid down
like regrets
on glass.

I stood still
soaked in
what we were.

The street
forgot us
faster than
I did.

Your name
still echoed
in puddles.

I spoke it
to myself,
softly,
like a hymn
that lost
its meaning.

They said
rain heals.

But I swear
it only hid
the cracks
a little longer.

The pain
isn’t loud
anymore.

It’s quiet.
But constant.

Like the drip
after the storm
the one
you can’t ignore
even in
the silence.