Thoughts on a Rainy Night:

Part 1: A Feeling I'm Used to:

It's okay,
but not really.

It never will be.

I smile upon the faces of hollow waste-bins,
I leap across the forest of worthless slum buildings,

I cry with humiliation at a sophisticated me, I
wish I could be more like her.

I really do wish
I wasn't such a crybaby;

I really do wish
it wasn't so hard...

But if the plip-plop of angel tears
beating quietly on my window
and the hurricane of the storm drain

have anything to say,

then they say,

"it's okay."

(But really, it's not.)

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Part 2: But who?

A reoccurring figure is
inhabiting my daydreams.

She occupies the memories that
I won't let myself remember.

But who is this person,
preoccupying my mind?

Is imaginary,
real,
--photoshopped?--
or a spirit?

The answer is simple,
and really quite sad.

She exists, but I just haven't found her yet.

She is the girl of my dreams.
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