Patter is thy name

In all these years, in all this rain, I wish I would have collected it in a tin to swim in. The tears that I have shed in happiness would have been the exhilerating motivation that would have provoked me to exercise in the modern world. But alas, the rain is gone, forgotten, just proved again by the rain shed today. Today. Blue water from the sky, ink splattered on the papyrus, footsteps slapped on the concrete, conversations discussed but later kept secret between two girls. "Who are you?" I am me at this moment, but who will I be ten years from now? Ten days? Ten minutes? I do not ponder this, I just stay in the path already walked, not out of fear, but out of Love.

The existence of my heart, body, and mind must coexist equally for my belligerent aggression to leave and not progress. Is this redundancy, or is it just this bad? The pattering of the rain calms me, and I know that it is not ironic.

Patter goes the rain, just like a name repeating itself over and over. Maybe I will, too.

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