Your Memory Smells Like Rain

Your memory smells like rain —

soft, familiar, almost holy.

It drifts through open windows

and curls around my coffee cup,

reminding me of quiet afternoons

when we didn’t need words to be whole.

There’s something in the way it falls —

like forgiveness without apology,

like time slipping between fingers

that once held everything too tightly.

When the sky breaks open,

I still think it’s you.

The steady hum against the glass,

the gentle rhythm of your voice

I can’t quite remember,

but feel, somehow, in my bones.

The air turns silver,

and the world smells alive again —

earth, rain, and you.

You, who taught me that endings

can still be beautiful,

that love, once planted,

blooms again in memory.

So when the storms come, I don’t hide.

I step outside,

lift my face to the grey,

and let the rain remind me —

some losses don’t fade,

they soften.

They turn into something

you can live beside.

Moral / Closing Thought

Even when people leave, love finds new shapes to stay — sometimes in a scent, sometimes in the rain.

----------------------------------

Thank You for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi