Sitting in a quiet street,
crying.
The Rain is falling,
washing away your tears.

A light comes on,
its half past 2.

You don’t notice,
You sink into the gloom.

Have you ever noticed,
the rain,
when it falls in little drops,
yet forms into a stream,
that washes away the pavement?

Do you wonder,
why everything isn’t like that,
why everyone doesn’t melt together,
to form a melody along the earth?

I do.

It’s said that a raindrop is born,
knowing where its going to hit,
how fast its gonna fall,
and where its going after.

But, what if something moves in its way,
what if it takes its own little path,
one that wasn’t planned?

Just like us.

We don’t know who were gonna fall for,
how fast it will be,
or where we’ll end up after.

We don’t know until were dropping,
til the person leaves us,
or until we get over it.

Then we cry it off,
we sit in the street,
wondering where we’ll go next.

Sitting in the rain,
helping the rain drops,
choose different paths.

You look up at the sky,
the rain falls harder,
you pull your hood up,
Your done crying.
For now anyways.