Sorrow

Outside the clouds,
The water drips,
Tracing those concentric circles,
On the wooden boards of the balcony.
The wind cries and sings,
Violent yet gentle songs:
Like those of my soul for yours.
Because soon,
You’ll be only a shadow of your old self,
One living in my heart and in those eternal yet fading memories
Always remembered in a timeless corner of my mind.

Inside, on my body,
The water runs, soft and unending,
A warmth from the cold metal showerhead,
Opposing time, in little rivers that trace the lines and curves.
My eyes are closed, yet from under my lashes,
Crawl burning drops of pain and fear,
Ones that scorch
From an aching desire to remember, to forget
The emptiness.
And the rushing water attempts to drown the tears,
But those have endless power on my soul.
And, I can still taste it,
The burning stream,
That lonely rivulet through the flood:
Spicy, salted, the taste of sorrow.