As I walked home in the pouring rain, I thought of how many seasons had passed since you left.
The last leg of winter came first.
I remember how cold my hands got, and how my tears stung against the chapped skin of my face.
Then came summer with its oppressive heat.

That was when I finally severed all ties with you.
That was when my whole existence felt like it had been roasted on embers.
I continued to burn and so did you.
But we could do nothing to change that except wait to see if there would be any respite.

changing seasons love poem rains

And there was.
The monsoon hit right as I came home.
Home was Bombay.

And Bombay wouldn’t be home without the rains.
For two months the city was cleansed.
Lightly at first and then full swing.

Related: A Monsoon poem

As I walked home in the pouring rain one day, I began to see how the rain and the agony I was in had so much in common.
Both had seemed manageable at first.
And then they had gotten out of hand.

I clutched my umbrella much as I had clutched on to memories of you.
I zipped my windcheater tighter, in order to protect myself; much as I had tried to protect you.

My feet seemed to power on through the knee deep water against my will; much as I had robotically powered through my pain.
I avoided potholes and overhanging wires much as I had avoided hitting rock bottom.
But occasionally, my foot would slip and I would hover dangerously over an uncovered pit.
Despite this I moved forward.

A heavy load on my back and tired feet.
Home was the goal.
And though I had weathered the storm, it continued outside. I only had to look, and it would be there.

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I am a law student, feminist, book lover and writer.