Water song

Percussions of grinding sounds within a dream, remind me of the falling rain against the back of her neck, the irritating rain, dripping down her shirt. I protect you, I would say, as she batted her eyes to another. She would always become the one that I’d hoped to find inside my head, singing along to the tunes of my epileptic neural activity, deep within my cerebellum, flowing cold through my broca area, where I planned on telling her that I loved her. But those days, those dreary days, when the rain would enter my vision of her, wet and unhappy with me—they would make me forget all that has ever been said, ever been thought. I wanted only her to be mine, but her eyes were focused on someone else’s umbrella, to shelter her from the coming storm, and her racing mind’s exit from the stage when the pantomime was over, and her bags were packed ready to leave the oceanic tide’s behind: the water song, the undertow, all behind her now.