It's still raining, but it seems to fall without purpose this time, or just cleaning up the parts that the downpour a while ago didn't happen to hit, like a lazy afterthought of cruise missiles after a nuclear strike.
inside, this is something about too much rain this time.
and clasping my wet hands together I seem to be looking at failed intromissions of a dream, fading softly in my mind like how i imagine snowflakes would be when they touch my skin. trivial regrets that can only nip and nibble softly, never drawing blood or pain but they have their moments. Stuff of legend those moments. they endear, and cling like leeches in their endearment, at this point they draw blood already and you wish the rain could perhaps fall a little more harder and a little bit more colder that visibility would be lacking and the coldness would numb you more.
and another year just up and went.
