My reflection in the rain
My reflection in the rain
jogs a memory—not sharp, but soft,
like words heard through glass.
The face that looks back
trembles a little when it sees me-
a version I almost forgot,
a version I once was.
I see her there—the girl who stood by the same window,
moons ago, counting droplets,
hoping to meet someone again.
That hope lingers still,
like the scent of petrichor—fading, yet addictive.
More drops fall, blurring my reflection,
making me realize, just like memories,
reflections also change-
until they are just a fleeting outline of you.
And when the rain stops,
that older reflection disappears,
and you find yourself staring at the new one,
that one you shaped through every storm—
the one you chose to wear as armor,
to stand the test of time.
A