The sky is gray and bleak, with winter rain drizzling soundly as far as the eyes could see.
You watch the droplets fall on dried-up lakes and ponds alike, and marvel as the foggy mist of winter intensifies with every passing second.
There are no sounds around you, no buzzing of crowds or loud conversations. If you listen carefully, the only thing that accompanies the rain is the faint calls of some bird you can't identify. And if you really really concentrate, the other sound that graces your ears is the way he breathes, sofly, right beside you.
It's a peaceful moment. Getting lost in the rain sitting in the middle of nowhere, watching the bleak open sky and endless pools of water, walking through forests and bushes and open fields, pretending to be lost. You bask in it as much as you can with your silence. And he basks in it right alongside you.
But peaceful moments, like rain, even they drizzle out.
And soon enough, instead of air-filled lungs, you have words stuck hard in your throat like dried chewing gum, making your chest hurt as you try to look elsewhere, anything to make this feeling of misery go away.
It's hard, this bitter semblance. When words fail you, and you can do nothing but look silently at those desperate eyes who are begging you to talk. You were never a talker. But this feeling of complete muteness, you hate it with every fiber of your being.
Maybe It's your silence that makes him come to a conclusion, even if it's the wrong one. Maybe it's your failure with words that makes him write a story of his own.
"You should think about us..." he says, his eyes on yours like calm waters, and you watch him in confusion, not understanding the meaning.
"You should think about us...," he says again. "About what happened... If you have any doubts about wanting me."
Hurt blooms like the first flower of spring inside your chest as the words fall from his mouth. They sound as misty as the fogs, deep as the bleak gray sky, and you look at him, eyes trying to look for any hint of humor on his face, to no avail. Eyes pleading and desperate, trying to make him realize that even though you are not good with your words, you still choose the correct ones when you told him you love him.
But he doesn’t see your silent confession in them. So in the end, you have to cast your eyes downwards once again.
Because to some, even rain is misunderstood as a good-for-nothing muddy, soggy mess of cold water.
And you, are merely just a human.