The trees seem greener when it rains.
The pale underside of leaves wave at me intermittently as the wind sways them, and they like moving differently.
Dancing a different dance.
Raindrops skid down the lounge room window, little scratches on the glass.
The warmth of the apartment has steamed the windows, perhaps the heat radiating from my body as blood eternally pumps through my veins and maintains the life I take for granted.
I was so lonely last night.
You haunted me, lurking in the shadows of my bedroom, hiding under the covers of my bed, holding my lonesome body in the night.
Your ghost whispered menacingly into my ear, reminding me over and over that you are alone.
It sounded worse coming from your lips, those lips I know so well.
I’m alone now, but it doesn’t seem as sinister with grey daylight brightening the room, clouds meandering past, the calls of birds who are also living beings like me, the comforting rain and the green, timeless trees who nod at me and remind me that they, too, are alone.
In the darkness, all I can see is my empty bed and the hollow space you carved from my middle.
But on this rainy Friday morning, I see that your ghost is transparent, that my loneliness is inevitable, and that no matter how cold my sheets are, how black the night sky is, how achingly a fox calls in the night, or how much I long to be with someone, anyone, you,
I will make it through the dark to the shy light of the day.