Digression Strikes Back

I have a love/hate relationship with rain these days….


The coffee is rich and sweet and dark as virgin sin. I drink it from glass like a Russian as I sit near the tall window, watching the rain summon the dawn. I have not moved for ages, my knee too swollen to bend without good cause…watching the season arriving silently, drinking coffee through the long night.

I feel older than my bones. Age weighs on me like salt on the sea, like rain on the jasmine. My thoughts drift back.

It has been an age of instruction, learning unexpected lessons.

It has been a year of confronting my failures, even those that have hidden from me.

It has been a weekend of reminders that I really know nothing at all.

It has been a night of rain and coffee.

I sip the darkness as the rain seduces and berates me, mocking and questioning me. I feel poison in my veins, bubbling like oil through shale. Why did I never feel it before, before I could smell it like wet pavement? Why did I never accept the misery, the sorrow, until it was far to vast for me to chart? How did I assume anyone else functioned as I did, and why does learning that they don’t make me so weary? How could I have been such a fool?

The rain is always full of questions…but it has yet to supply even one answer.

Not even one.

The coffee is rich and sweet and dark as virgin sin….as I whisper to the rain “Enough…”


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