Correspondence Weather

Rain falls in careful sentences, each drop folded with intention. An umbrella blooms in borrowed colors, holding back the weight of unsent truths and half-written apologies. Letters drift like quiet confessions, skimming puddles that remember every step. The street reflects a city paused mid-thought, where words choose descent over silence and ink learns how to swim. Some envelopes open on impact, others keep their secrets dry, but all of them arrive somewhere— because even the sky, tonight, cannot hold what needs to be said.