Have you seen how it rains?
Not on one particular day,
but how summer gives birth to monsoon?
That first rain is never alone.
It comes in the arms of a tumultuous storm-
translated to winds,
Lightnings scorch the skin.
It wrings petrichor from the bosom of the earth and
with it, memories.
The second rain follows.
Rage, water, smell.
The third, fourth and fifth fall the same,
by the sixth or the seventh, the anger is lost.
It drips, maybe grumbles a little but mainly, it
just pours its tears in straight lines.
No more shouting, no more pain.
Is this how we learn to cope with loss?