Oh your face it does haunt me like all cliché lines do. Circling in my thought process as they find paper in reluctance but utter truth.  Destine as is the rain drop is fated to find the earth. And although its home is made for a short while, its energy is forever lost to the world around. Oh how I wish to be that rain drop. To carry weight and energy into everything I touch though my boundaries remain limitless. Unaware if I am to turn into a soaked sweater, a splash on a running shoe, a man’s’ blinding annoyance, or just another drop in the ocean. And though my clichés may never change the weather, I am praying that you and I might end up together. Hoping that my energy remains limitless and finds sought after boundary in your presence. Hoping to be a damp spot on your sweater is my comforting relief from the separation of the swirly storm I’m in and your forever distant shore. But I am a lowly drop and you sweater holds no warmth for me as our once connected past becomes nothing more than flooding memories now. Passing by as did the running shoe in puddled ground. Flung from disapproving eye and forever to remain amongst the waves of the unforgiving ocean. Prayer holds no weight here. Hope as important as the sand we all overlook and pass by without second glance. And though my present tides throw salt in past wounds, I look to the horizon in search of your coast. I look to the sky for my dove holding an olive branch and the sun to elevate me from my watery prison. With the belief that as I move closer to heaven, I move closer to you.