The sky didn’t ask permission before turning a bruised shade of violet. It just happened, much like the way you left.
The rain is still the same. I’m the only thing that’s different. The sky didn’t ask permission before turning a
I watched the first few drops hit the windowpane, tracing jagged paths through the dust. It’s funny how a sound can be so deafening. To anyone else, it’s just weather—a reason to grab an umbrella or run for cover. But to me, it’s a metronome ticking back to a time when your laughter was louder than the thunder. The sky didn’t ask permission before turning a