From The Bottom of a Warm Winter's Day

I stand here as the cold warm summer winter rain falls from the heavens and finds its way into my memories of you.
A rainstorm is such a cliché yet somehow perfect symbol for the umbrella you held up, but which got carried away in gusts of gusto and flights of fights.
The pitter patter of miniature mismatched off-rythm drum beats fall with each droplet that hits the pavement. Some rain, some tears.
And I know, from the bottom of my miraculously still broken yet beating heart, that it's alright even though it's too late.
Because though deep inside our minds are hurricanes- nay, galaxies of swirling heartbreak and twirling misery...
We are both still intact.
We may not have been forever,
But the precipitations and condemnations of the mind will never forget.
From the bottom of a warm winter's day.