Each raindrop carried a name. They whispered against windowpanes, telling stories to no one in particular. People paused, confused at why the rain made them nostalgic for things that hadn’t happened. One man wept beside a puddle and swore it was the exact same rain that had fallen the day he let someone go.
Sidewalks That Echoed Footsteps Too Late
The water didn’t just fall—it lingered. It traced the edges of old paths, retracing steps long gone. Walkways gleamed with familiarity. You’d walk and hear not just your own steps, but those of someone you once followed, or maybe led. Time folded inside wet concrete and sighed through sewer grates.
Rain never forgets where it last fell—it just waits for us to notice.
Umbrellas That Didn't Want to Open
It wasn’t just rain—it was return. Some umbrellas resisted, heavy with knowing. Others flipped inside out as if protesting. But the people didn’t mind. They let themselves get drenched, hoping some drop would carry a memory worth keeping.
