just the way it is,
without it having to do with you
who promised to help me
skip a puddle
(it was in Fr.Boa's Hypnotherapy classes
i realized i had an innate fear for puddles)
the sound of the rain hasn't changed.
the pitter-patter on the courtyard,
the drumming on the corrugated tin-roof,
the consistency
of a childhood afternoon
watching cars cut past Ring Road
the ache of
a teenager
with stained teeth, thick glasses and no waistline
who went unnoticed
the smell of clean skin
that dipped into crevices on a lazy afternoon
rain-
only that never changes.
without it having to do with you
who promised to help me
skip a puddle
(it was in Fr.Boa's Hypnotherapy classes
i realized i had an innate fear for puddles)
the sound of the rain hasn't changed.
the pitter-patter on the courtyard,
the drumming on the corrugated tin-roof,
the consistency
of a childhood afternoon
watching cars cut past Ring Road
the ache of
a teenager
with stained teeth, thick glasses and no waistline
who went unnoticed
the smell of clean skin
that dipped into crevices on a lazy afternoon
rain-
only that never changes.
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