Echoes of Neon Rain

The rain always felt like a memory here, didn’t it? A soft, persistent ache against the windows of this city.
I used to chase it, you know – seek out the greyest skies, hoping for a reflection of what wasn't there anymore. But tonight… tonight it simply washes over me, muted by the pulsing rhythm in my headphones.
It’s an old song, really. Something my grandfather used to play on his record player. A slow, melancholic melody about lost loves and distant shores.
When I close my eyes, the neon lights bleed into the music, blurring the sharp edges of the present.
He always said music held a fragment of someone's soul – a tiny echo of their laughter, their sorrow.
And as the bass vibrates against my chest, I realize it’s not just his song anymore. It’s… something else entirely. A warmth spreading through me, chasing away the chill that’s lingered for far too long.
He wouldn't have understood this city, this relentless pulse of light and sound. But perhaps he would have recognized the quiet comfort in finding a piece of him within it.
It feels… good. Almost unexpectedly so. Like letting go of something heavy, just for a moment, and trusting that there’s space to breathe.

Editor: South Wind