Featured image Marker | Basement of my Brain

When You Called

on that grey day of rain and sorrow,
I found you hollowed-out, paper-thin,
echoing with sadness
that whispered through your veins.

The hurt tore through you
in shudders and jags,
you crumpled, waterlogged,
pulped, too soaked to stand

and I was afraid
that you were lost
to the relentless torrent

but today I hear
that the sun broke through
and you are slowly warming,
drying out — 

a new shape, no longer smooth,
tracks and scars from the flood's path,
but still beautiful, and still here — 
more pages to be written after all.

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