Mostly When It Rains

Not because of nothing...but it just feels different.

There is the usual missing...the empty bin feeling of something that is gone.

The polite pull of something that has stranded, moved away.  A phone picked up...set back down.

Perhaps it is the washing away, a cleansing...removing.  There is the fresh scrubbed sky, the ground is awash in sparkles and the air is perfect.

There may even be a rainbow, a brief fluorescent reminder of beauty against a storm.

But none of that really matters.

The sky could be fucking purple, a gorgeous glaze that is remarkably unique, unseen ever and like an alien landscape it would be captivating in its presence...

But in that color reflected afternoon, I wouldn't care.

Soaked, still wet from the downpour and likely cold in the clothes, I know that mostly I'd be empty.  I'd be solo.

I'd be wooden.

I'd be stone.

There would still be a heartbeat, blood flowing through veins...clinically alive, lovingly dead.

Listening to the last drops still falling from trees, from eaves of houses, watching the storm slowly move away...stranding me even further, leaving me who was once alone even lonelier.