I imagine you peering through your window watching those droplets trickle on the other side of the glass. You trace the movement of each and every one with your fingers. I imagine you crying as you think of heartbreak and heartache. All the frustrations, pains, and sorrows that you’ve hidden from the world are here and now.
Then you end up tracing my name. The clouded, fogged-up glass of your bedroom window bears my name.
I turned off the lights in this room. I want to see my words clearly. I want to concentrate. All I want to see tomorrow is sunshine and traffic. I want the normal, the ordinary, the mundane.
The pattering of the rain doesn’t lull me to sleep. Rather, it keeps me awake. I want God to be in His heaven, so that all is right with the world.
If that were the case, then there would be no need for the words of Borges: Heaven will cease to exist, because our place is not Hell. There would be no need for adversity in a perfect world, without heartbreak and without heartache. There would be no need for rain at this time of the night. Angels won’t have to cry for you at night when your eyes are closed, and your pillows are soaked in tears.
I wouldn’t have to think of some reasons to explain precipitation. Reasons and lines that would probably get struck out of a draft for a children’s book. After all, it’s just rain at 12 AM; singers and songwriters have incorporated the word “rain” in more songs than you and I – or you or I – can possibly imagine.
I’m feeling you… but at the same time, are you feeling me? Are these thoughts just consequences of midnight rainshowers, keeping you awake as well? Don’t let me go, now that I don’t have you yet.
The rain won’t let up, but I don’t want to turn on the lights. I don’t want to see the raindrops falling on my window; not today but tomorrow, when the sky is clear and there’s nothing in this world to fear. Where there are no raindrops at all.
Right now, I don’t want to see the name written on that window… yours.