Should the rain, in all its madness, be allowed to keep me from my thoughts?
I try to focus, but the steady patter on the window pane keeps my hungry imagination's cravings at a peak...
And it smells good, too.
It's the smell of a thousand memories that can never be forgotten-- no matter the pace of the frustrating wind. A thousand good memories. They match the smell.
I hear the creak of the trees, begging the moisture for the sun's return.
I see the whispering grass, dancing their cry of hopelessness.
But they only think it's hopeless.
This storm has yet to pass.
I empathize with them.
I observe from my pinkified bedroom on the basement floor.
The window is blurred by the tears of the sky, and it drips, drips, drips...
As if it has not a care in the world.
And those memories come back.
They all come back.
That last night, together.
Maybe it poured.
Maybe it sprinkled.
Maybe it was just our tears.
We danced for it, once.
A waltz of empiricism-- the heavens begged us to teach them.
Can you wish on the rain?
The drops will catch us!
They always do...
Kiss in the rain?
What a cliche...
Then there's the times you weren't there for...
When I soaked up the rain
as it poured off my face
while I dreamed of yours.
Drip, drip, drip-- and my focus is drained, washed with the dust down the gutter.
The soggy memories sharpen into thoughts of you I'm left with.
I have a message. I'll deliver it to the clouds, who will deliver it to you.
It's a simple message-- just three words.
I'm hoping a few drops will do the trick.
Baptism, grandparents, and Marathon Kids
2 months ago