Rain Upon My Face

The thickened blanket of clouds send rain like unending tears. The drops land against my window, creating legs like wine on my glass. Gravity drawing the rivulets against their will relentlessly downward. Hypnotized by the patter, I hold my umbrella loosely, almost forgetting my stop. Puddling on the ground, the waters rise, and begin to flow taking my thoughts with them. Streams become creeks, creeks become rivers, rivers flowing onward to an invisible ocean of memory. In this dim half-light the line between wake and dreaming blurs. I long for a warm body to curl into. My thoughts trail off as the first splash from the skies land upon my face. Will it forever be this way? More importantly, does it even matter?