Writing in the rain

Writing in the rain  Today I was tired for writing all night but I was rushing to come to see the sunset, forced myself to walk some miles to discover what the sky was going to show.    Told my friend the sun not to go, told him to wait.Told the rain not to show until I get there to capture with my lense the frame of the buildings of New York. The big skyline wall, finding myself writing some words to tell a new story from my inner core.    Hey New York, you will amaze me once again.I  promise I will be there, watching your cloudy sunset, writing with your buldings frame, getting inspired by your touch, drawing shapes with your clouds, finding love in lonely hearts, sharing meaningless thoughts. Thoughts that always find their way when I see your sun.  Just wanted to come here,  not staying indoors. Again, told the rain not to come, told it that I won't stop until l a see a glimpse of this ending New York fall.  Winter will arrive, new stories to be told await deeply in my heart. I still do not know if this cold will break myself inside.  I am scared, not knowing what to expect, what to hope. Christmas is there, houses full of lights that I am finding on my way are reminding me to bright, to share a part of my life.  Hope I can find alone in the snowy cold new times of hope, new words to show to the world.  I am deeply touched, tears of joy are shown, I have never written in a New York Winter before. My first winter is here but I stick to the shadow of the fall, telling it to tell me lies...telling it not to go.  Please fall drop by, fight with the winter in tomorrow's sunrise. Win this battle, let me enjoy some more. <p>Paragraph one.</p><p>Paragraph one.</p> I am on my way to the Park to watch the sun dawn fading in the water. A ghost just dropped by, he vanished away singing goodbye merged with the twitter of the singings birds who finally arrive. It is hard to keep my rythm, walking and writing and at the same time singing. I will give it try, the background sounds of life are keeping me alive .  I am again praying to my God that these little showers are gone, that don't bother me anymore.  Now I see a golden tree, photography  and writing are mixed, took a shot to reveal these two arts inside, the art who lies in the new me.  I am a timid artist, a humble poet, a rookie master of weird and creepy stories. A learner in life that wants to draw new lines on her book to shine after my old heart pieces finally stick together and beat stronger, beat forever... even when I'm dead and my grave is buried in the deepest forest.  I'm walking though an empty road, wait! I see someone there telling me "I don't care I will just go with the flow in this rain, did not see you, I will go and keep my way".  Park is barely empty, a squirrel is digging holes scratching  the mass of leaves, hoping to find some nuts.  She stares at me, she is getting close. Now she is jumping on a tree,  she reaches  the top, but she waits... she stops to give me that look, saying "I do not care, leave me alone just want to grab some nuts before the night comes". Came back to my way, my empty road. Grass is full of golden leaves being framed by a dance of giant trees.  A tree just falls, it is broken in two parts*, maybe the wind is keeping him alive. Took a shot to say goodbye.  Now I am sitting on the side of  a new tree, just grabbed some yellow leaves to see what I feel.I smash the leave with all my strength, feel its brown color running through my veins, gives me heat so I can breath and remain sane to write again.  Nature is perfect, my heart decides to stay in the cold to remember another New York magic night.I would like to stay forever, to see the sun emerging in the sky.  My umbrella is being taking away from me, it is the cold wind whispering the night to come, telling me to freeze, to succumb at the end of my thoughts. But I won't stop.  I am sitting on a wet bench, my fingers shake, my hands are cold, my clothes are wet but empty of sore.  It keeps raining, I feel  in my head the noise of falling drops. I realise it is not that cold, or it is just maybe that my hands have found warmth, dancing with every word that I write in another New York fall.  The night has finally arrived, is telling me to go home, but I do not want to stop. My phone screen is filled with drops, I barely see. Empire state is looking at me from far away, I  wave and say hello.  A blurry shape of a white big bird is flying on its top, drawn by clouds, flapping his wings, enlighted with the Empire State yellow lights filled with dreams from broken hearts. New York I will come back to write some more, I promise but now just let me go.

This poem is about: 
Me

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