I always loved,
the way,
raindrops,
seemed to hold,
fervent races,
on windows,
of buildings,
or vehicles,
and I watch them,
even now,
with such,
concentration,
like a child,
to see who wins,
and loses.

As you start to get,
older,
and things seem to get,
simpler.
You begin to respect,
even admire,
the little things.
Like the sound of,
songbirds,
through an open,
window.
Rainstorms going pitter,
patter,
on metal pots,
and pans.
An old truck,
being brought to life,
on a cold,
Sunday morning.
They become,
magical,
in a sense,
that they bring you,
a feeling of,
fullness,
in the pit,
of your chest.

I just thought that I have left your memories ashore and buried them deep under the sand.
But they were carried by the waves again
in the middle of the ocean.
Here where I am trying to find
and rebuild myself.
Waves of longing and regrets are crushing
my sail.
I’m now swimming, drowning in nostalgic pain.
I dived deep within your memories
and finally found my heart.
I held my precious heart, stayed afloat
and saw a glimpse of my own horizon.
Though self-forgiveness and peace
are yet far to be reached.
I still have my strength.
And I promise not to drown again.