on remembering someone (else) in a late night of an April

it was one rainy night in early April when I walked out and was greeted by the rain, a little drizzle, as the sun had set and nightfall was approaching. twenty-four degrees, celcius, and with all that I thought that I wanted to stay a little longer beneath the sheltering roof under skyscraping heights.

drizzle, drizzle, as  I may remember…
but for one, to be heir to the princess’ throne 

even I had to admit I might have been thinking about one night few years back, or maybe of another night in another April as pouring rain greeted me through the arrival gate…

but that’s not what I was thinking about. not at all.

don’t. you. dare. pity. me.

so I walked through the rain. people were rushing, the streetlights flickered with dim light. perhaps in a hurry, the lightning prompted a little dispersion.

no, I didn’t remember Bonnie Pink[1]. I didn’t remember that night in that other April as I walked through pouring rain, I didn’t remember the years it took, I didn’t remember anything about it!

if I were to ask, will you? take her place for me.
your option, Ma’am. all yours.

red, green, yellow; rhythm in indifferent cadenza; the breeze was getting colder; the streetlights awash with stoicism.

you didn’t have to be that kind to me. you didn’t have to say things I needed to hear. you didn’t have to make me——— dear, how much I hated myself already! or maybe it was just the rain, running through my head, through the capuchon, through the glasses, through my mind;

why, sure, what else were it not for the rain. let it fall. let’s make it all the rain’s fault…

and the rain kept on falling. and life just keeps on running.

___

[1] ‘It’s Gonna Rain’, by Bonnie Pink
[2] (re)written on June 2013