Like a thousand wet fingers,
tapping on my window at night,
inviting me to come outside,
and yet lulling me to sleep.
Tiny silver beads,
reflecting the moonlight,
blurring the lightening
that lights up the dark sky.
A chorus of singers,
loud and clear,
competing with the growling thunder,
and longing to be heard.
Like little bells, or chimes,
ringing in my dreams,
each with their own harmony,
each uniquely beautiful.
They danced on my tongue,
as I opended my mouth wide,
letting the pure, magic liquid in,
feeling it flow smoothly down my throat.
Salt. That's what I tasted.
Salty waters from the sea...
or from tears?
Could the sky truly be crying?
Tears that aren't my own,
rolling down my cheeks,
soaking through my flimsy nighty,
cleansing me.
Like angels,
determined to purify every inch of me
soaking into my cold skin,
reading my thoughts,
evesdropping on my secrets,
wiping my slate clean,
so I can start anew.
And the next day, the fog has lifted,
and the flowers have blossomed,
and the birds sing.
The angels have done their job,
now it's time for me to do mine...
