"I will give you my glory if you promise to give me your heart."
I sang these words to you through fervent texts.
Fingers danced rapidly trying to make you understand the position you put my feelings in.
My fickle feelings are a thing to be hated.
A thing to love nonetheless.
You said you only wanted a good time, nothing more than a silly summer spree.
Nothing more to you, so it shouldn't be more to me.
Oh lover,
This is not my intention but I must lose you,
for my glory is worth more than a knowingly ending bliss of nothing
that would cost everything.

Listening to raindrops is oddly soothing.
The loud claps of thunder through a murky sky a melody from the gods.
Lightning a fast portrait of fire.
While I sit and listen to the lazy rain run to meet the thirsty ground,
I ponder aimlessly in my mindscape.

Thoughts of loved ones long gone and new crushes to caress.
I stare at the drawings on my hands and wrists and wonder if I might become something for art by art.
I write this and feel like I want to be a writer.

Then I fall back into my consciousness, and realize,
I
CAN
BE
EVERY
SINGLE
ONE.
Raindrops brought new radicle and raking thoughts.
I or one, am grateful to the rain for letting me listen in on its raindrops and dewdrops.