The Rain On Monday

Written words are the only thing my mind can find ease in.


16. December

I miss the way you said my name, and the way you arrived when nobody came.

I miss the way you told me I belonged to you, and the way you told me everything you felt was true.

I miss the way you sang Yellow Submarine when I was sad, and all that time you spent on me must’ve drove you mad.

I miss the way you’d let me redecorate your car, and drive me to the ocean even though it was far.

I miss the way you played 20’s music at night, and though you hated hugs, you always held me tight.

I miss the way you preferred coffee to tea, and you took me to the hospital when a bee stung me.

I miss the way you tanned in summer, even though you burnt, and especially when we fought; it was a lesson that we learnt.

I miss the way you liked rain and the scent of perfume, and when you came over after school everyday to watch flowers bloom.

And the thing I miss the most about you was that you never left, until that day in December when I forced you to and saw that you wept.

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