trigger warning: s(u)icide.
cloaking the city with a copious circulation, casting the crowd with its charming cadence, calling the celestials with a cunning charade, and creating the crescendo and cataract of grays—the crest of it all, the captivating rain.
corroded with musk and the pigment gray, the horizon's ruling started casting cloudbursts. and with those ponderous clouds by the gloomy firmament, minute by minute, it poured with such tardiness—droplet after droplet—until it took all avenues to a saturated land nick.
whilst below its pattering blob stood a fair and empty vessel. a maiden of the severed path or a lady of nowhere, she ambled through the bypass with her night blue dress' steep from the downpour. even her hair was slick from its gush, but she paid it zero heed—if none can topple the emptiness, what does caring even bring? and with that, with eyes as void as the ocean's infinite, her eyes trek above to abide the behest of the globule's very providence, and why was it enchanting to her eye, who's crying the same droplet?
how can a soft ball of cotton like those by the sky hold something so ponderous yet never hurdle? how can the skies cry this much yet smile after every rainfall? how can something so beautiful exist amidst her very travail? and why can't she just live like the same beau she wishes to be one with?
she wandered her eyes again, her space was occupied by pondering. her mind was stumbling, thinking how the clouds can contain such heavy rain, yet her irises can't even hold a lone globule.
her heart ached with the queries after, those she couldn't even repute. by then, she stood by the raging river, which was running under the heaviest downpour. her heart collided with manacles as she reminisced every piece of austere. with her eyes above—the rain as her last memory, she took a sole step, and her body descended with one of its droplets and one of its waters.
that's when the maiden of the severed path found her smile by the rainfall. and her body, as light as a feather, started acting as if it were a cloud. she melted into that pouring rain, and then she was gone forever—all with no perpetual to seek and no morn to trail.
