What was once soft drops of collected sorrows,
turned into frozen bullets that followed me
towards shelter.
I watched storm clouds gather;
one would suspect a change in the weather,
but not me.
I trusted your showers
to water my flowers.
What a fool of me to think I could dance in your rain,
to think I could cast an array of colors in your capricious skies,
to think your darkness was beautiful like mine.