I was looking at him.
we were inside his room,
he was lying on his bed.
over his head, was the window
it was raining outside,
the trees rejoicing in the wet afternoon.
a tin canister on his table casted a pale shadow
over his pens on the desk
with his notes for his mom unfinished
I was just sitting there beside him,
waiting...
minutes passed by, hours ticked away
sunlight spilled weakly, spoiled by the rain,
raindrops trail down the windowsill.
he was no longer looking at the ceiling.
he had drifted away.
his chest not heaving,
his eyes closed.
i was just sitting there staring at him.
my stool creaked, feeding the silence.
the time had come, glacial and cold.
slowly, i stood up.
it's getting late and the weather's getting worse.
i glanced at the window... storm had come muffled.
Stronger.
Angry.
Muffled.
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