At times like these, I open the window and stick my head out

just to make sure the cold still sends shivers down my spine

if I can still feel the cold, I can’t be completely numb

eyes closed, I inhale the air and realise it hurts

because, at times like these, I really miss the scent of rain

I miss the scent you brought with you on one of those nights

when you came in dripping water on my floor

and we laughed about it over a cup of steaming tea

like we always used to do

but the streets are still frozen and spring’s still nowhere in sight

the rain won’t fall and you’re not coming tonight

I don’t know why I structured it the way I did. I don’t know why I’m always thinking about rain. I don’t know why I keep writing about a “you” when there is not, and has never been, any “you” in my life. I don’t know why I haven’t posted anything in so many days. I don’t know why I always feel the need to explain myself. I don’t know why all the “whys” are flooding my mind. Maybe it’s good not to know.

6 thoughts on “Scent

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