Rana Shubair


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You held my hand under the rain, but I let go. I let go and swirled lifting my head up and opening my mouth to taste the drops. The rain came down in a drizzle gentle on my face. Then it pelted down drenching my clothes. I let it purify me and invigorate my soul. I welcomed the untainted water and let it engulf me washing my worries away. Healing me. Soothing my heavy heart and easing my overworked mind. You stood watching in amusement. The rain stopped. I opened my eyes, but you were gone.

Now, every time it rains, I go out and walk under the rain. I look around, but you’re no longer there. I embrace the rain over and over and I feel your soul resurrected in the water that floods my aching heart. You are the water that gives me life. You are the dewdrop hanging from my garden of daisies and carnations. Your martyrdom gives life to everything I see, everything I touch.

How I wish I didn’t let go of your hand on that day.

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