There's a certain smell to everything when it rains.
The asphalt, the grass, the dirt.
The air is cool and damp. Like a wet blanket draped over the city.
It's raining now, and I'm walking home by myself on the empty streets.
When I'm at the door of my apartment, I take out my keys with shaky hands. Once I'm in, I shut the door, and go to my bathroom.
There, I cry myself some of my own rain.
YOU ARE READING
In Pieces
Short StoryI didn't want to destroy him. I was afraid I would break him into pieces. And add him to the list of people I've broken. There's too many on that list. Too many.
