The January Rain

The January Rain

A Poem by G.C. Seguin
"

I was in love with a girl my age when I was seven. She unfortunately passed away that year and I still think about her every day to this day because I feel that I still love her. This is my love.

"

My bangs hang in my face,

sticking to my skin in sweat

and poking at my eyelids.

There's a burning in my throat

like when you swallow chlorine

and accidentally breathe it in,

but it's a dry feeling

like when you're so scared

that you forget to swallow.

My eyes feel impossible to pry

as though they've been masked,

but I peek through my lashes

to see the room around me.

My tank light is on

and my closet door is open.

There's someone standing there.

They know I'm awake.

They can feel my fear.

It's everywhere and they can feel it.

It’s a cold January night

and it’s storming outside.

I can’t remember the last time

it rained in January.

I pull my covers closer,

feel my toes poke out from the blankets

and recoil them back to safety.

The rain pounds harder.

It sounds like rocks against my roof.

And then I look out the window

and see the blackness outside

and there’s the feeling

of standing in the rain

and letting it soak through you,

wet clothes clinging to your sides,

hair against your ears and forehead,

much like how mine is now.

I hear the choir of pitter-pat,

pitter-pat-pat.

My dreary eyes close

and I feel your hand

slip through my fingers.

Your soft skin is gentle and warm

and I turn to look at you.

Opening my eyes,

there you are behind my lashes,

your brown hair around your brow,

hair too short to reach your shoulders.

Your brown eyes are like marbles

above your full cheeks.

I can see the pink in your lips

and the dark lashes on your eyelids,

the way they flutter

when you’re nervous.

I squeeze my eyes shut to ward off sleep

and open them again to see

that you’re no longer there,

but your skin is between my fingers,

your hair is on my brow,

your marble eyes are in my head,

your full cheeks are against mine,

your pink lips are whispering words,

sweet and merry on my tongue,

and your lashes flutter in my heart,

butterflies on big sunflowers,

dripping in the January rain.


© 2019 G.C. Seguin


Author's Note

G.C. Seguin
Yesterday, I came out to a friend of mine who was very understanding, but I'm struggling to come out to my mother as I'm not sure of how she would react. This is what it's like for me when I wake up at night and need some comfort after a bad dream. I just try to imagine a girl I was in love with a long time ago. Emma was born with a rare heart condition that deprived her of her freedom to engage in much physical activity. Due to this, she wasn't allowed to run around with the other kids. I would sit in the sandbox with her and she would watch me on the swings. I'd try to show her tricks. She was my first kiss and my first love. In early April of 2009, she was hospitalized after suffering a severe heart attack and died less than a week later of heart failure. After she was diagnosed when she was a few months old, she wasn't expected to live through kindergarten, but with the help of her parents and loving brother, she was able to survive long enough to reach the second grade. Unfortunately, she wouldn't be able to graduate elementary school and I was heartbroken and devastated. I had hoped to visit her someday as we were a few states apart, but that dream was shattered. I still dream about it every now and then. RIP Emma, 2002-2009. You were my best friend and I love you so much. I hope you're running, wherever you are.

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Amazing power behind the write, leaves me with little to say. Sounds like spoken word might be a good match with the strength of this poem.

Posted 3 Months Ago



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Added on April 12, 2019
Last Updated on April 12, 2019
Tags: love, caring, friendship, gay, LGBTQ, sad, beautiful, poem, poetry, memories, dark, dark nights, rain, pluviophile, January, winter rain

Author

G.C. Seguin
G.C. Seguin

Essex, VT



About
My favorite books are mostly horror novels or novels with a lot of feeling and truth. I began writing in elementary school in a little journal and haven't stopped since. Every now and then, my poems a.. more..

Writing