Through and About
Walking and talking through and about the novel. Skimming
and flipping, avoiding the light drizzle. But it’s pouring. Shame, the pages
are soaked through and about. Meandering now. Not lost, but aimless. Rain hits
the cobblestone pitter patter. I
watch from within the confines of my mind, thank God I’m not out there, but
rather trapped inside myself. Pitter
patter. Again, I begin to worry. Will I ever make it home, or have my travels
consumed me. Shame I can’t make it home for dinner. I know the sky will open to the heavens, but
when the white marble staircase crashes down I fear I may miss it, because I’ll
already be on my way.
No comments:
Post a Comment