When I was younger (in high school) I valued poetry, art, beauty. What has happened? Where has my creativity gone? Why haven't I pursued the values of aesthetics? I homage to my younger years, I will write a stream-of-conscious poem.
A tight squeeze, a single drop of rain.
Embrace me, embrace me, embrace me,
Now and again.
The nutty brown flavor pattering around the rim, I sit next to him.
I sit in the cafe, next to him
But alone, outside, the pinch of salty water pummels to the pavement
The other side of the street shines more brightly than the dark side of the moon.
Embrace me. I should say so.
This circle goes around and around, like the friendship that doesn't end, like I hope to be, like I hope to have, and hope to hold it.
He does, and will, and the drop falls, and shatters the street into pieces that pierce the shop windows that reflected strangers' faces.