Another rainy day in June.
It’s funny,
last night I remember
dreaming of you.
The way we sat
on the bench
humming that tune.
Same way we
would always do,
until we never did again.
It’s funny,
I was remembering
your laugh, as it pierced
the air like broken glass.
But it was infectious,
a single burst
and we would all be
wrapped around our knees,
rolling the floors,
having to gasp just to breathe.
It’s funny,
I was just sat here,
thinking about that summer.
The heatwave then the thunder.
The excitement, then sadness
would roll over, like a storm cloud
bringing a downpour unlike any other.
A gang of friends. Sisters. Brothers.
Then the rainy day when
the calendar ripped
and friendships sailed
unto other harbours.
Another rainy day in June,
there had been so many,
and there still are.
I feel them in my heart.
The way the rain calls
in a piercing cry.
The way my eyes flood,
not with rainwater but
with lost smiles.
Every rainy day reminds of when
summer days were torn apart.
When youthful hearts stopped beating
and started fearing the setting sun.
I still feel that bolt piercing my heart
like a bullet from a gun.
The way the days no longer laughed
and the songs stayed stuck on repeat
somewhere behind the shattered glass
of a stolen car.
And the newspaper on the welcome matt
would peer up at us with our friends
photograph smiling back, laughing
that same piercing soundtrack.
And I still remember the summer
when the rain poured down
and youth walked away
and never came back.
