the day after your wedding,
it rained.
of course it did.
i stayed in my car
and watched the drops chase each other
down the windshield,
like they knew your name.
i thought about that night in the parking lot—
when you said,
"i have a playlist i only play when it rains."
and i gave you mine,
a folder of bon iver songs,
as if sadness could be shared.
you laughed,
then showed me yours.
taylor swift. coldplay. muse. radiohead.
"too mainstream for your taste," you teased.
but i kept listening.
every time the rain came,
i played your songs,
and pretended you were still driving beside me,
singing the wrong lyrics on purpose.
now,
i don't know if it's cruel or kind—
that the sky still cries when you're gone,
and every song still sounds
like you.