Pitter-Patter of the Rain – a poem about memories evoked by the rainy season

I like to lose myself in the pitter-patter of the rain,
Thoughtlessly doodling in the mist on the windowpane,
Unbothered by the dark clouds, puddles, and grime,
Nostalgia takes over, I travel back in time,

Stuck in those moments that didn't last,
Conversations that ran deep too fast,
My heart raced every time you hummed a tune,
I yearn to recreate that melody every monsoon,

You were a sight for sore eyes, 
So pure like an angel in disguise,
Your smile could light up a room,
Wilted flowers within miles would bloom,

Perhaps it was just me bewitched by own obsession,
I was in love, that’s the only reasonable confession,
It’s ancient history, but it’s engraved upon my soul,
My past is still part of me, it’s what makes me whole,

I burned all your mementos and assumed I was done,
But of course that was foolish because you’re not just anyone,
One can run away, one can hide,
Yet we can’t ignore the feelings we bury inside, 

Life goes on, even as we lose bits and pieces,
Though grief leaves its mark like stubborn creases, 
A few moments of bliss are worth the years of despair,
Time heals all wounds, so a broken heart should repair,

No point in regrets, I'd probably do it all over again,
It is what it is, I don't even mind the pain,
When the sky clears up and the sun shines through,
I'm going to miss the rain because it reminds me of you.

What’s the story behind Pitter-Patter of the Rain?

As I sit by the window, listening to the rhythmic pitter-patter of the rain, memories flood back, and I find myself lost in the misty trails I once drew on the windowpane. The dark clouds, puddles, and grime outside seem inconsequential as I surrender to the embrace of nostalgia, traveling back in time to moments that, though fleeting, are etched into the fabric of my soul.

In those moments that slipped through my grasp like sand, I remember conversations that ran deep too fast. My heart would race whenever you hummed a tune, and now, in the midst of the monsoon, I yearn to recreate that melody that became the soundtrack of our stolen glances and shared laughter.

You were a vision, a sight for sore eyes. So pure, like an angel in disguise, your smile could illuminate the darkest room. Flowers within miles seemed to bloom at the mere reflection of that smile, and I was bewitched by my own obsession with you.

I confess, unabashedly, that I was in love. It might be ancient history now, but its fingerprints are still vividly engraved upon my soul. I burned the mementos, assuming I was done, foolishly thinking I could erase the echoes of your laughter and the warmth of your presence. But you’re not just anyone; you’re an indelible chapter of my story.

One can run away, one can hide, but feelings buried inside refuse to be ignored. Life goes on, and we lose bits and pieces of ourselves along the way. Grief leaves its mark, stubborn creases etched on the fabric of our being. Yet, for a few moments of bliss, the years of despair seem a small price to pay.

Regrets linger like distant shadows, but in the grand tapestry of existence, I’d probably do it all over again. It is what it is, and strangely, I don’t mind the pain, as it is silenced by the pitter-patter of the rain. As the sky clears up, and the sun pierces through the dissipating clouds, I realize I’m going to miss the pitter-patter of the rain. It’s not just about the weather; it’s about the fragments of time when the raindrops whispered your name, and the world felt magical.

Time, they say, heals all wounds, and so I hold onto the hope that this broken heart will repair. No more dwelling on the past, no more living in the shadow of what was. The sun will shine again, and the rain will become a bittersweet memory, a reminder of the love that once was. For now, as I let go of the lingering drops on the windowpane, I acknowledge that you were my first love, a chapter in my book of life, and I’m learning to turn the page.