Ironic indeed, as soon as the rain came to wash away my pain, its rejuvenating arms came and went like a teasing caress. The rain was like you, infrequent, inconstant, yet so important, so powerful, covering me, enveloping me, and leaving me high and dry. Perhaps not so dry. At least no one would see my tears. Although I always wished you had.

I sniffled, a consequence of my stupidity, crying in the cold. I would likely fall sick again. But perhaps I would like to fall sick. Perhaps people would finally care for once. I miss a glass of hot milo, especially the blend daddy made for me, when I lay in bed sick. I missed your milo too, it is more delicious than any I have ever tasted, I believed it was made with love. I remember letting each sip linger, like a gentle kiss, each sweet and chaste, each filled with love, each teeming with warmth and affirmation. I consciously use present tense, something I pride myself with, hoping the day where all these narratives would fade into past tense, the same way we speak of people when they are no longer here. He was sweet, he was a great friend, he was... No. You are. You are loved, you are missed. I miss you.

The sun now shone more cruelly than ever, heating up the still pools of water around me, creating an irritable humidity that now consumed me. Sadness, dreary sadness became magnified. I came to find renewal, instead I find myself jilted even by nature. Shine away busy old fool, my day will come. I rubbed my eyes, pushing my fringe out of my eyes. The blue pyjamas is now a mess, clinging damply to my skin. I got up, picked up the briefly abandoned umbrella, a laughed a resigned laugh. I ran headlong to the lift, suddenly conscious of the dreadful state I was in, barefoot, soaking wet, hair wild and wet, I must look disastrous. I hit the button to hold a closing lift door, it responds, opening to reveal a familiar face. I felt my heart beat faster, but I knew it could not be true, it could not be you. I kept my back to him, as my heart beat faster and faster, thumping so loudly I could have swore he heard it too. In a glimpse I saw those eyes, those same sad eyes, but I was sure it wasnt you, but what was this aching nagging feeling. Right now, I was making a mess of the lift, pools of water collecting around me, embarrasing myself as I notice how sheer my outfit has become. I absentmindedly stepped out when the door opened, unsure even its even my floor, I just wanted a second glimpse. A lone cat stood at the threshhold, just beyond the door, granting me a brief moment to steal a look. My eyes met him or yours for a moment and I looked away, heart beating faster than even. I turned my attention to the feline, who has become interested in the sodden sky, I knelt down to stroke it, hoping to find some comfort there, hoping to wake from this nightmare, this delusion. That could not be you, I just wanted him to be you so badly.

the still painted gardens of yesterday,

memories of you persist to haunt me,

landing gently on my contemplations.

The deep emerald green of Father time,

changes to amber yellow and then brown,

marking the change of seasons by colour,

but the butterflies never grow faded.

With each year the garden wilts except you,

you persist with your glorious flight down here,

lingering like a ghost of cold lost love,

not pale but vibrant like the summer rain.

My thoughts form this static realm of false green,

where only the butterflies freely flew,

while the sky remains chained by old sepia,

locked in winter with summer butterflies.

Sky (020609)