I love how the setting is after rain; I can almost focus on the sound of my steps as if it is the only thing I need to worry about. dry, chapped lips from the cold breeze that has set in only allows a few whispered words to pass at a time.
droplets along the window blocks connect each thought as my fingertips connect each dot, allowing my mind to wander where it usually does not. the drops along the metal roof tell a story like a rambling poet agains the keys of a typewriter, uncertain of which drain will drain the pain away.
(j.a.r.)