I can smell the rain.
I quietly hope clouds will form inside my chest and rain will softly fall inside me so I can sleep without hearing this voice inside my head.
You’d gently remind me that if my lungs filled with water I’d be too dead too fast to hear any calming rain.
And I’d cry because I would feel like a stupid child, hoping for fantasy to be congruent with reality.
And because my moaning and sobbing in conjunction with my tears would mimic a small midnight storm.
I want to be absolved.
But my apologies have come to mean nothing.
It’s all been done before so it wouldn’t be a false accusation if you were to claim they’d been rehearsed.
I’ve been in training to be human for some time now.
It’s lonely when everyone else seems to get on fine without repeating the same lessons time and time again.
Guess I need some extra help.
Remind me that no matter how much I’d like to be I’m not a fish and I can’t be searching for Atlantis because we’ve got bills to pay.
Remind me that that I’m not a bird and I’ll never take flight on my own.
I can smell the rain.
It doesn’t smell like holy water or sin.
It smells like the inside of your mind.
I’ve been there once or twice but you say it tickles so I leave.
It smells like memories.
Like vacations during hurricane season and soccer uniforms caked with mud and canceled plans when those plans were a bonfire.
If I said I was sorry, would you believe me?
Sorry for who I am?
Who I am is who you love.
And I’m not sorry for that.
I’m sorry for what I’ve stolen.
Oh jesus. I left without paying.
I forgot the eggs were in the cart.
And I didn’t get caught…
But figures they were cracked by the time they made it to the fridge.
I’ll make it up to you.
All the breaths I have left in me.
Odds are a few of them will be worth it.
Maybe a few will be spent after late night whiskeys when the lights are out and I’m rambling until I say something wonderfully sentimental and poetic under the cover of your snoring.
Love is like rain.
I want the sound of water on glass to drown out the voices in my head.
Because they don’t belong to you.
I know that they’re my own.
Making dreams into nightmares.
I can’t sleep.
Can the water make me whole again?
I’ll drink the rivers through a straw.