Reflections of things on the window,
cast surreal shadows on the wall with each strike
of thunder, shaking and breaking the silent introspection.
Smell of wet soil was intense,
and so were the flashes of past.
To remember, how much she loved it
and asked me if I felt it too.
Yes, I feel it now.
Now, when it doesn’t matter much.
Bolting the window and pulling the curtains,
I pull the covers over my face.
Because I can’t face the fact that
things this beautiful still remind me
of horrid consequences.
Presence of something,
implies the absence of something else.