After the Rain | When He Returns—in the light, the puddles, the sky

My favorite weather is right after it rains—when the sky turns clear and blue, and the air feels cool against my skin. There’s something about that moment that always makes me think of him.

This poem is my response to the blogging prompt “What is your favorite type of weather?” For me, it’s not solely about the weather but the memories it brings back: the cafe we used to go to, neon reflections in rain puddles, our walks by the riverside, his glance when I turned slightly toward him, then looked away. And that one moment I’ll never forget—when love became something sacred between us.

I wrote this to hold onto all of that. Maybe you’ll feel a bit of it too.

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After the Rain

After the rain,
a sky reborn in blue and cool air—
where I miss you most.

I remember the café,
between raindrops and neon on puddles—
pink, yellow, red, blue—
of cooled steel and second chances.

You were always most beautiful in that light—
when the clouds shifted
to make way for clarity.
There you sat, gazing through the window.
I nodded—
and we stepped outside,
two shadows in the wet streets,
to the path along the riverside,
where children raced their scooters,
wild, unburdened joy.

Your hands in your pockets.
I turned just enough to meet your gaze,
then looked away.

And then,
in the aftermath, unbound by the gentle drizzle,
I found you—
on bended knees,
where I was both altar and sinner,
reminding me that love,
in its truest form,
is its own sacred weather.

Do you remember
how even the storm became a confession,
and every clear sky
revealed the beauty
of our impermanence?

I still wander in the clear wake—
a pilgrim of rain and neon dreams,
and every breath of cool air
carries the wonder of you.

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