I was the last to recognize the rain
to hear its trepidation, gently at first
on rooftops; distinctively you can hear
its harbinger, a forceful few drops
splashing the likes of endeavours away
leaving remnants of lost desires:
fallen leaves, wet guttering leaves
ruminating over the first time you dealt with
the hours, the seconds that behest hope.
Like no one else has dealt with pain
you tell yourself yet again another lie:
I won’t care so much, care so much
I’m a new person
cold and unforgiving.