For Quiet Hearts In Rainy Cities

The city slows down in the rain.

It stops pretending it has somewhere to be.
Cars hush as they pass,
their headlights swimming through puddles
like fireflies looking for a way home.

Above you, streetlamps glow like low-hanging stars,
casting halos in the mist,
and somewhere in the distance,
a siren wails soft and lonely,
like it, too, longs for someone to understand.

The pavement shimmers, dressed in wet velvet.
You can smell the earth again—
that deep, secret scent from between cracks in the concrete,
from the roots of the few trees that line the sidewalk,
still reaching upward
even with so little space to breathe.

Tonight, the air isn’t cold, just alive.
Alive in that way only rain can make it—
fresh, forgiving, open.
A reminder that the world still moves gently,
even when no one is watching.

And you, standing there—
you are not forgotten.

This moment is yours.

You are not wrong for needing softness.
You are not too much, nor not enough.
The world doesn’t need you to shine all the time;
sometimes it just needs you to be.

So let the rain touch your face
like a blessing.
Let it carry away the things that ache.
Let it settle around your shoulders like a quiet shawl,
woven from the hush of night and the music of wet leaves.

And if you're alone tonight,
know that the rain is with you.
So is this little corner of light,
this whisper of warmth sent through a screen,
from someone who gets it.
Someone who also stood still in the middle of the city,
heart cracked open,
just breathing.

You are allowed to be soft.
You are allowed to rest.
You are allowed to take comfort in the small things—
the golden glow of a window,
the rhythm of rain,
the scent of wet bark and old stone,
the way the whole world feels wrapped
in something like mercy.

Tonight, the city is tender.
And so are you.

by Onnaya