So the rain came down in torrents,
when it hadn’t rained in weeks.
The sheets of rain against the pane,
formed puddles in the streets.
I was in the middle of a meeting,
with you, on your departure day,
but thunder roared and raindrops poured
before I could ask you to stay.
And when I did, the thunder clap,
was louder than my word;
lighting struck the moment down,
and my courage died by the sword.
Drenched to the core, as the curtains fell,
we went our separate ways
with a “stay in touch”,”don’t miss your flight”,
because it was your departure day.
Over time, as days spun faster,
staying in touch was just a myth.
I could replace a person or a place,
but not the regret I’d been left with.