Rain poured like a curtain the day I visited your grave. The sky was heavy, mirroring the weight in my chest. I clutched the notebook you left, soaked through but never torn, like our bond.
I stood there silently, rain washing over me, feeling the ache of loss deep in my bones. The world seemed muted, like even the colors had fled.
Then I heard it — a soft whisper in the wind, like your voice carried through the storm.
"Keep living, In-ha."
Tears mixed with the rain, blurring the world, but I held onto your words. A promise whispered in the downpour — to live, to love, to remember.
I knelt, placing a single yellow ginkgo leaf on your stone, the color of hope amidst the grey.
That day, under the relentless rain, I made a vow. To carry you in my heart, to paint with the colors of our love and loss, to keep your spirit alive in every breath I take.
The rain didn't cleanse the pain; it baptized a new beginning.
And as the storm softened, a fragile light broke through the clouds.
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