Droplets of water run down our faces, making our hair mix with the moist dirt beneath us. The thin layer of clothing we wear sticks stubbornly to our skin, leaving next to nothing to the mind's imagination.
I sniffle softly as I glance into your eyes. No words needed to be said, a silent communication sweeping along similar to the wind now in our hair.
These conditions were less than ideal, and yet, peaceful all the same. Small and beautiful cherry blossoms float with the wind, the slowly setting sun being painted with pastel pink stars.
Lifting my frail hand, I softly brush away the stray hairs that frame your faces' beautiful features.
Crimson streaks follow where I touch, mixing with the pool of water beneath us both.
If we had made it a little longer—no—If we had we been a part of a different era. Might we have lived long and fruitful lives? Or died along the young, suicidal teens?
We may not ever know the answer in this lifetime, but maybe, just maybe, we'll meet again. Maybe we'll smile and laugh together. Maybe we'll vow ourselves to thick bonds. Maybe we'll slowly fall together, into the deep and everlasting darkness of the underworld.
Forever connected by fate, we'll live with one another on repeat, never getting disgusted from the blood stains of our past.
Then again, this is but a fruitless wish that has dripped into my mind from this rainy weather.
This rainy weather that we both stay in; this rainy weather we slowly drift away in.
[2022-its raining]