This time around it’s different.
I can smell the rain
before the fall.
And I know
I know
Why you don’t want to leave me alone
Alone with my darkest of thoughts
It’s battle I’ve always tended to have lost
But it’s you
you who’s always pulled me back up.
From my damaged knees
pressed to the ground
from the ground back up to the clouds.
But this time around
this time around things
feels different more oppressive.
Like even if
even if I wanted to reach your hands
I couldn’t.
This time around it’s different
it’s different it feels as if the parts
The parts inside of me
are absent.
heartbeats in rain
dark roses in gold flames
my heartbeat forever hers
a paradise like the scent of
her smile in pouring rain
- deathetix
fallen stars
shifting hues of sapphire and lilac
melding into heavens of night
moonlight showering upon freckles
fabricated with fallen stars
crickets chirping in midnight’s melody
two frames lying on dewed grass
drops of water weaving and
petrichor dancing in butterscotch hair
shared jokes and giggles filling the air
sparrows dreaming in homespun nests
pale arms stretching up above
desperate to brush celestial constellations
falling several light years short
shooting stars carrying hopeful wishes
across breath-taking skies
The smell of rain
I think the smell of rain is damp and slightly earthy. You can probably define it in any way, it can be different for all people. A person who has lost can think that rain smells salty, like tears. A person who is full of joy can think that rain can smell like a happy memory, the warm embrace of a loved one or the smell of something delicious being cooked. A person who never came back from their inner wars could think that rain smells like the battlefield, or the metallic scent of a gun. I don't know how it smells like for you, but each droplet has its own story to tell.
☂︎
Paris Rain
The smell of rain is different depending where you are. Have you ever smelled rain in the country? It smells of earths and worms and green life. How about at the ocean? There, rain smells of salt and seagulls and sandy stones between your toes. But rain smells best, at least it does to me, in Paris. I lived there as a girl.
What does the rain smell like in Paris, you ask?
It smells of old books.
It glistens like silver sidewalks.
It makes the sky mist-white and smells like wet flowers mixed with fresh starts.
I haven't been since I was a girl, but I'll never forget that smell.
it's my city, and most beautiful in the rain.
Rain falls down
It hasn't rained in California in weeks. She remembers the smell of rain, the time she was caught in a downpour, a six hour flight away from the Golden State. She remembers her family and beer that tastes like tin. A revelation in alcoholism.
the scent of rain
As the rain pours down I stick my hands out and let it touch me
Oh how I have forgotten what it felt like to be kissed by something so pure
As I look up the water drips down my face and collects on my chin
As it runs its gentle fingers through my hair I feel a sense of distant love
A cool sweet sent of fleeting comfort
The Neutralizer
Considering if the rain is purely water, it shouldn’t have any sort of smell attached to it. If anything, if the rain does have a scent, it is most likely due to potential minerals inside of the rain or the runoff when the rain is on the ground. I would say that rain and the moisture of the air would be more of a feeling rather than a smell. In a way one could say that rain could be a neutralizer of smell. Oftentimes, the police use dogs to smell out where someone or something is and when it harshly rains it can wipe away the scent thus in this situation the rain acts as an anti smell.
IDK
How to describe it, the only thing I know that is the smell of rain. It gives me a fresh, relaxing feeling, but how it smell actually? I don’t know it’s the smell of rain.
Nostalgia
Far removed from home, and in an alien land. She peered out the window, and observed the hustling, bustling street below. Yet still she felt lonely, the only comfort she could find was in those sporatic late summer storms. This climate was far too torrid for her particular taste. She was from Seattle afterall. So when she heard the the tiny taps on her window, she swung the doors open, and welcomed her old friend inside. Her arms stretched out, and eyes closed, she inhaled and marveled. More than 1,000 miles away from home, and yet, she could still smell her house as though she was sitting on her family's porch back in Seattle. In an attempt to savour her little bit of familiarity, she left the windows open until the rain quieted to a single, steady drop. Allowing the earthy, familiar musk to waft into her dwelling, so she could feel at home again.