it is hard to tell
whether being lonely
is the same as being alone
and whether
being in love
is the same as simply loving.
what is love anymore?
it's not a face
or a name
or a string of syllables
love is not even this poem.
it is the sound of the rain
hitting the windows of my Honda Civic
the blur of the streetlights on the motorway
passing me by like opportunities
that i may never see again.
it is the feeling of waking up
at just the right time
after a nap.
it is a warm drink and a smile
a pair of new pyjamas and a big blanket
it is christmas movies
and holiday baking
it is feeling the warmth of another girl
laying next to me.
love is not a name anymore
it is travelling to nowhere;
the destination of wherever you want.
it's sand between your toes
or wind in your hair.
it's your fingers in mine
your lips on mine.
it is the feeling of being free–
where did it go?
YOU ARE READING
How The Rain Taught Me to Love
詩歌'How The Rain Taught Me to Love' is potentially just a series of drabbles at this point, about how feeling things is like the weather and nobody can predict or change it.
