touching me.

Slow and gentle on my forehead everywhere else was bundled up under layers warm thick. The crucial part of the memory is rain felt reliably gracing my face, not whether I was midnight walking under smeared lights or afternoon biking slippery streets. Maybe I was alone lonely it pushed me to desperation or perhaps together it made us feel so much closer run laughing to shelter. Just that it is constant in its ways always finds me in the same manner.

all the little important things

This past year has been too much blood letting, do not have much emotion left inside to dump to letters. Sitting here trying to write and I have just got this dead feeling inside, that is how rain leaves me. Washed clean numb, finally ready needing to start all over again.

thank you,

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