It's not raining
but I can still hear its patter on my roof
and feel the droplets on my palms,
it felt like the tears you used to shed
when you were said you were tired.
My eyes are in drought,
aching for a little rain
because they like the notion of a lake
or the sound of waves lapping down my cheeks
every time I hear your name.
If you could do one thing,
I would ask you to come back to me
and come back to me with the pouring rain.