She was an incessant storm.

He was the resilient Earth.

Whether pouring
Or drip dropping ever so slowly,
She was always there.

Strong against the deluge,
But slowly by slowly
He was crumbling.

Sometimes
She was the beautiful morning mist.
Gentle and glimmering
In the early sunlight.
But other times
She was the calamitous monsoons.
The constant bombardment
Saturating the earth to the point of fracture.

But always
He took the rain in,
Whether tyrannical or at peace,
And let her pain flow through.
Although, no matter what state she was in,
He’d always grow weaker
And weaker
Until he was worn to bits.

But together,
No matter the combination
Of rain
And Earth,
There was the remaining petrichor.
Ever present.