I’ve spent the last hour listening to the rain and contemplating whether the lightning outside is louder than the lightning in my head.
He could have let me down easy. He could have told me that he isn’t a fan of freckles and we would be better as friends. I wish he would call me and tell me he never wants to see me again. If he did that maybe I would stop thinking about the next time I’m going to see him.
The sky has never tried so hard to talk to me before. The ends of my sentences are being followed by a roar that only Mother Nature can make. I don’t mind the screaming interruptions outside; I could use someone to talk to anyway.
I wish the sky would talk to him right now, too. Maybe send a few lightning strikes in his direction; the ones in my mind aren't doing much. If only he wasn’t five-hundred miles away.
He told me that he enjoyed staying awake at night because he liked the way I slept next to him. Maybe he just enjoyed the way I looked after he complimented my unconscious mind.
I don’t sleep much anymore, mainly because he’s not around to watch me.
Our time together was shorter than his attention span, yet my memory of being with him seems to extend beyond the ticking clock on my desk, beyond the endless storm outside.
The bursts of white light against the grey sky remind me that the only reason it is raining is because it’s been sunny for too long. God damn, I hate the sun sometimes. If it rained all day I would appreciate the clear sky, but when my sky is clear, I forget that it’s raining somewhere else.