sunrise

the weather is weepy and worn. reflective of the mood i rained upon him. instead of passion, spite. instead of love, hate. washed-out and burnt-out i lash out in desperate fury for some sense of control.
he sits in silence. mourning. drenched in tears like the window-pane my pain is unbearable. turn his face kiss it. last resort. words only wound. he timidily looks in my eyes, windows of the soul he calls them. Crayola-colours of yellow purple and orange streak the car and we start to drive. never looking back.