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To Be CaughtThe rain seeps through my coat. Seeps in, chilling my soul.To Be Caught
A scream seeps out. A whimper. A glimpse of some inner despair not quite known by its host.
The distant footfalls of someone's feet, my feet, clip through the newly forming gray puddles. Splishing and Splashing in some melancholic melody. A dirge for a forgotten sin. The memory of a memory of happiness remembered for itself. A drenching rain quenches a thirst for cold.
Those distant feet stop, a door lays in reach. The knob turns. Warmth
by ~Akdom
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If holidays were twelve months long
And life were games and fun
And all the skies
Were filled with PSI's
...Would thinking still get done?
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