It rains here
and it stops then.
And then the lightning strikes, nowhere.
Like a broken flickering lamp in a damp broken room.
That's what outside feels like.
And the inside?
The inside feels like I've opened the only love letter I ever received.
The paper now rough and yellow, the smell, reminiscent.
Of the little fire that always kept me warm and dry, in the darkest of colds and the wettest of rains.