When I was younger I would watch the rain from my window and i would stick my hand out to catch the droplets. It brought me comfort, I have always found comfort in rain..maybe it's because the sky would cry with me but I never stopped loving it. I have distinct moments in time and the rain was always connected to them and up intill I moved out of my house I would still hold my hand out of my window. My new room doesn't have a window. I woke up three days ago with the most extreme form of existential depression I've had in awhile, I cried, I cursed, I just couldn't win that day. I walked down the stairs of my apartment building.
And it was raining
I stood there
Held out my hand
And breathed.
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How To Write Poems like A Broken Person
कविताa collection of tiny poems for mentally unstable people like me
