0219

Making tiptoes against the rain
I wonder when it’ll make a sound
The length of the pavement is empty
Without the companion in grey that follows me around
I cried because I’m scared of the emptiness
Shallow street, and nothing else – not even a click here, a hiss there, maybe some hint of a whisper of the wind from afar
I wailed harder in despair for I can’t even hear my own cries
I remember reciting a sentence or more, an inquiry, and then a feeling that’s caged for a while
I remember that they don’t tie up together, just a bunch of nonsense stringed and released
I was not expecting an answer, maybe an echo, but not an answer
From the start I’m certain that it’ll end up this way
But, alas, was I not ready
Was I not ready to be heard
Was I not ready to hear my own