As If I Am Nothing

It is night when it comes. A particular kind of rain, it falls like a curtain that keeps on falling. I walk outside and stand; neck stretched back, eyes open so the drops fall inside, seep through the cracks around my eyeballs. The wind starts then, in the howl of wolves that sweeps me aside as if I am nothing.

I return to the same spot each time, stand until my feet become the pavement, melt into the grey that matches my heart. Then the stars come, tinfoil pinpricks that shimmer when the clouds part. Lightning follows; its partner thunder not far behind. It strikes the plum sky with a clatter like a child busy with a drum. I hear the thuds and say your name, repeat it until the rain inside washes the letters that make up you away. And you leak from me, in a trickle from the place you used to kiss.