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it is ironic

it is ironic

that many a month ago

on a bone- rattling

november night

i was looking up

at a miserable sky

wondering if it was crying for me.

if the rain

soaking my black jeans

was pathetic fallacy

for my heart that you took

and kept tucked in your back pocket

while your fingers

laced through her belt loops

and your lips

tasted hers.

i remember

how nothing seemed colourful

nor beautiful

there only left

an empty cavity

of shrivelled hopes and dreams

in my chest

because how awfully

did the sky

seem to resonate with me.

yet now

there is still rain

but this time

it is the warmth

of the summer monsoon rains

that take my breath away.

because this is how

it was always meant to be

us against the world

a love that did not die

two umbrellas

hurtling down the hill

this time

rains of elation.

forever framed in my mind

this time fingers shrivelled

as the sky that

rains on us

cleans away that of the past

and makes us grow

grow into each other

because how awfully

green did your eyes seem

to what was growing in my chest.