Years Falling As Rain

Alone now, I sit beside the window,
my hands folded in the fading light
as rain falls heavy against the world.

Every swollen drop becomes a memory,
some from childhood, bright in the
playground, where we skipped through
silver puddles, filling our shoes with joy.

Some rain is older: my mother waiting
by the window, my father turning his
collar against the wind, friends whose
faces time has carried away.

Drops glisten in her hair as we stand
beneath the broken awning,
promising more than we can keep,
kissing while the gutters overflow.

And then the face of leaving, cold beneath
the platform roof, my hand raised just once
before you disappear behind the train's
darkening windows.

I remember the track glistening,
how we said nothing, silence easier
than goodbye, neither daring to name
what waited beyond that moment.

The streets drown in their own reflections
and I watch my whole life flow past:
the child, the lover, the one who should have,
the stranger I became without noticing.

It falls as years, relentless, unseen,
each drop a moment I thought would last
forever, becoming streams that vanish into
a place I don't yet know.

For a moment I believe it knows me,
that beneath its many faces is a familiar
voice whispering against the glass:

nothing is ever lost
while it is remembered.

Audio link: https://1drv.ms/u/c/4db44a4d6b88c854/IQDIuCR525bEQ4o8cmk1k9etAYvMutM0JT2...