why is it that when i look out the window and say, "it's so windy today, i didn't know it was supposed to rain" i'm really thinking, where are you? is it raining there too?

well of course it is. kentucky rain keeps pouring down, and up ahead's another town that i'll go walking through with the rain in my shoes-

searching for you?

one day when you were crying against my sweater - i remember this because it was brand new, pink, you liked it that morning before she showed up at your front door wearing too much eye makeup while your roommate snuck off to call and warn us (i digress) - you looked up at me with non-hazel eyes and said, "you're exactly what you said you would be."

thank you.

i know that somewhere in an old file, my memory is storing the way your hair smelled when you'd just gotten out of the shower, and it will open at the most inopportune time where i'll drop a glass to shatter on the floor.

in a more accessible file, i slept too late, and you were awake and playing your guitar in the living room so as not to wake me, the notes floating lazily around the corner into my head. and the only way i knew you'd slept next to me was that your bed smelled so damn much like you.

i keep hoping it rains tomorrow but when tomorrow becomes today it hasn't rained yet.