Open pots and pans
Bits and bobs strewn around.
Half-read pages of unfinished books
Stories vying for an end.
Songs with unfamiliar tunes
dancing on my lips;
Broken bits of thoughts,
That will never be finished.
Dreams with no beginnings
drawn across my half-open eyes.
My heart races – and I close my eyes
wishing I could continue on to the end.
Another wish –
Yet another abandoned drift.
She walked back – the rain was much heavier now. Each drop fell with a purpose – her hair, restless in a make-shift knot, unwound itself and carelessly fell over her shoulders. On another day, she would not let her conservative, sleepy neighbourhood see her like this.. but today it did not matter.
She knew something that none of them did.
Something that put a spring in her step and a smile on her lips.
The smell of fresh rain, on scorched earth. For years to come, every time the first drop of rain fell on the earth, the smell would take her back to this day. this place.