PLUVIOPHILE

Rainy days, big clouds, and a darkened room,

looking out of the window,

trying to see the clouds and manifest our future.

The stars falling down from the atmosphere,

walking too fast as we breathe the cold thin air,

and we are still attach to that affair.

The crowds say hello in different languages,

we are belong to those damages,

and we are bound for these changes.

The smell of the rain is your favourite thing,

and you said to me "You can be the king",

let's run away and forget everything.

One night we are at the rooftop,

counting stars after that long chat at a coffee shop,

sitting down with so much battles to stop.

Now, it is here to let go of everything,

you still love the rain but I am not your king,

and then we go back to the spring.