Sunday, March 16, 2008

Calloused fingers and chapped lips.

That is all I am.

I am a nonentity.

There is a storm brewing. The sky is getting swallowed by the clouds, and all I can do is sit here and watch, wait for the first drop to darken the cement sidewalks, hope. Hope.


Hope that those trees will not spiral out from the earth and carry themselves over the gusts into his window, the shattered glass speckling his eyelids, like rain, solid rain.



Hope that when they replace my heart, the good things will feel the same and that the bad will be nonexistent.

Instead of the other way around, like they are right now.


Because it's all I can do.

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