Hujan

Rain here isn't just a backdrop - it's like an old friend who always knows when to show up. Raindrops are tapping on the window, and with them, memories return: slightly blurred, slightly sweet, slightly painful. Everything is just like it was back then, when it was "we" and not "I." Water is flowing down the glass, as if singing along, and suddenly it turns out that loneliness isn't an enemy, but a way to feel again what had long since dissolved into the clouds. And how strange: the harder it pours, the warmer it gets inside.