I was afraid to walk outside in case the rain would catch me standing as I am and was; alone, unrequited, an apple-pitted girl against whatever comes to mind. Say it, anything, dance damply under the unmoving ceiling fan and move like falling wind in summer. The only time I feel like me, summer. The only time to stop and not feel immobile; the only time to move and not feel pushed. The only happy time. Have an apple, feel it to the core. Wear a dress, and let the rain fall through it and the wind soak it so the clinging mocks your need to hold on, but still let go, and watch it tumble down your legs and mouth; cling to something far away, through dreams. Like flimsy cloth, you and I, like warmth and wind and rain, we can be. You and me. Or just me alone. Unrequited, clinging to the edge of the line where the rain starts, racing hearts, which will cross the line first? Who will win? It's the decision of my life, whether to walk into the rain or not. But it's the time that catches me against my watch, and so embarrassed, I let my hand catch the rain until it stops suddenly.
I've been experimenting, quite successfully in my opinion, with stream of consciousness. I find it so much easier to write this way, and I think my messages end up more similar to the way they're constructed in my brain when I just don't think about them. Tell me what you think!
