Cup: The morning is when she lingers. It’s before the world wants anything from her. And…that’s when she’s most beautiful. It’s true, not many saw her like that, but I can’t say I was the only one. Even though we each had our own beginnings, mornings like this were shared between us all.
Glasses: She used to tell people that it was like the world was drawn with a dull piece of charcoal. That was before me. Now that she sees things my way, everything makes a little more sense.
This is me. If I’m meant for anything, it’s to show her the world. Is that so bad?
A quiet morning, like the many before it, calm, comfortable…but comfort can be terribly blinding. The difference with this particular morning is in a call. She smiles…for who? I can’t see anymore.
Phone: She tells me she wants to be a raindrop. She doesn’t mind falling, as long as she’s not alone. And raindrops are never alone. She always has a new story to tell me. Today, it’s about being a raindrop. I wish I could’ve been there, ‘cause stories aren’t always enough, and words, can only go so far.
This is me. Sometimes, I wonder if she’s still talking to me, or if I’m just…eavesdropping. It used to be everyday, sometimes for hours, sometimes for minutes. Healthy relationships are based on communication. But her words, however sweet and real, sound so distant. Now, they flow past me effortlessly, as if they were meant for someone else.
Umbrella: She must know what she does to me. Her every touch, every time she holds my hand, every time she holds me close…
This is me. If you hold my hand, I’ll be yours forever. A simple promise, that’s all I can offer. Is it enough? It may be too late for me. It may be too late.
Scarf: Anyone can look from a distance, a stranger can look from a distance. What’s so special about that? But to know her scent…it means something else. It means we’ve been close, closer than anyone else. I dare say I’m lucky. But when she doesn’t want me, when she’s away, and it’s just her scent with me, I can only feel…forgotten.
This is me…left behind. Am I the stranger now?
Cup: There are those nights when it’s just the two of us, when she softly hides in her own thoughts, and only one thing seems to melt the cold silence: a kiss.
This is me. Ask me what the perfect day tastes like, and I’ll say, ‘her lips’. She was my first kiss. That has to mean something, something sure and true. Because the taste of a pure kiss can’t be shared. It’s the dreadfully romantic idea that there can be only one. The question is, am I her only one? I’m afraid the truth will break me. But her kiss is convincing. I’m not her only one.
She said she wanted to be a raindrop, and today, it finally broke us. She had found her own to fall with; her own to fall for. Today, she was a raindrop.
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