I dig my hands deep into the pockets of my wet overcoat, caressing the brief note you had left for me. I know that being late will not matter this time, the rooms will echo with your absence. Working overtime has been an excuse for something else than money for a long time. The drizzling rain cover my glasses and make the streetlight sparkle like a frozen version of the fireworks we saw together last year’s New Year’s Eve, repeating promises we would break.
reflected moon –
puddle on the parkinglot
ripples in the breeze
This is written in a response to Jen’s suggestion to study the haiku of Richard Wright. Go and read it.
November 11, 2014