Sit staring out the window
counting the raindrops as they fall
beating against my window so
My eyes are tired
the windows to the soul
are shut tight and I mean to keep them closed
only for me to behold
the magnificance that keeps me whole
The irony of a single teardrop...
is not the last one that slips out
and is allowed to fall
burning it's mark in my cheek as I think
of how it used to be and everything that made
me and you a "we"
But how each teardrop is a chapter of a story
the reminder of a moment
the ending untold until the last teardrop has fallen and hit the floor
Then and only then...
has the whole story been told
© Christina Paul All Rights Reserved to Impulse Imagination
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