Dry the Rain

This is the definition of my life: I lie in bed as the sun rises and breaks through the window blinds. It’s managed to sneak through the clouds that have blanketed this place I’ve called home. I kick and turn trying to find some sense of comfort that has long since fleeted these four walls. Her smell still high in the air, then again that may just be me grasping on to that which is no longer there. The rain begins to come down again; I knew it would only be minutes for the sun to retreat once more.

She hasn’t returned a single message, granted its only been a few days, but it’s a fight to get pass any waking moment. Her clothes still strewn about the floor; the memories of past exploits literally written on the walls.

There’s something inside that I want to say, saying it out loud won’t make it ok, but knowing that I’ve been here before, I believe that I’ll be alright, I’ll be ok.