The rain reminds me of:

The boy with a sweet face who was taken from us too early. 
The people who drove by and splashed puddles up to my knees while I waited for the bus. 

When I ran from home on nights my mom called me whore and slut. 

The grey walls and the small monitor on visitation days. 

When I cried because you said we would only be friends due to the distance. 

Our hands entwined in the backseat of your parent’s car when your dad said mean things to you. 

Always saying goodbye to everyone I love. 


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