my mother used to tell me that the rain was for the lonely,
and that the ocean waves were where virginia woolf drowned her misery with rocks in her pockets.
as a little kid i didn't think to wonder how it could be possible
to be so immensely sad,
and then i met someone who taught me about the different
colors of the sunlight,
someone who loved those same miserable waves
that i hated so
much.