Cloudy With A Chance Of Tears

The sky loosens its grip

Letting dusk spill like ink

Over the trembling rim of the world

Clouds drift

Slow

Swollen

As if carrying the weight

Of someone else’s sorrow

A hush gathers in the branches

A silver thin stillness

That tastes like the moment

Before a confession

Moisture beads

On the lip of the horizon

Hesitant

Shimmering

Soft spoken warning

That the atmosphere is remembering

Every ache it ever held

Then the first drop falls

A quiet punctuation

On the sentence I never finished

Another follows

And another

Until the sky is speaking fluently

In the language of unraveling

I stand beneath it

Letting the rain stitch itself

Into my skin

Letting the storm read me

Like an old diary

Left open on the wrong page

But when I lift my face

Expecting the familiar sting

I realize

The rain isn’t falling down anymore

It’s rising

Lifting from the ground

Like a thousand tiny ghosts

Returning to the clouds

That once released them

And for the first time

I understand

Not every storm comes to break me

Some come to take back

What was never mine to carry