The diary of a fiend

Coloured Rain

"Here's a thought baby.
Why not write about the rain
And how white it is to your true colour today?"
She says this cheerfully as I reply with a mocking response
"And how the rain carried me away and to such a loving
Caring,
Cute,
And wondrous lady?"
She laugh and leaves.
The real writing will soon proceed.
But I know not what of
And that strikes me odd.
I know what to say
But to write it is such a shame.
"The rain."
I say.
Let's stick to this today.
But do I?
No.
I am blank.
Like a canvas without a brush.
No smooth or roughness to show my love
To the piece I wish to recede
With the feelings of need
That shouldn't be complete
And that is a thing.
"Yes!"
I tell today.
I know what to write of for the day.
The flower,
The trees,
The roses that gleam.
With the rain added on
Giving it colour to flaunt on.
Like a cocktail dress with the heels.
It shows it impressions to all
But like a lady,
Delivers none at all.
"Oh what a tease..."
I think
And laugh.
Looking back to the past.
Thinking of the flower that would last.
In my mind of course.
She never withered or give off the scent of divorce.
"Colourless the Gardner should be."
I say with the slightest reaction of noticing.
Its not me...
The rose with a thousands souls
That touched mine more
With her beautiful voice
"I should stop this thing."
I say as my fingers keep typing.
And how she was truly a love like no other.
Even though, we never established it to others.
"This isn't right to her."
I think as I type on
Pressing her name on the keys.
Of the Rose that I wanted to be the Gardner too
But alas,
I'm stuck with the petunias.
"I'm happy with what there is to be."
I say as reassurance to me.
But truly I'll never let go.
You'll by my Lego house that we wanted to build in the snow
The one that gets me drunk when I am alone.
"My mistake"
But that's what I should say.
No.
That's what she says as she reads my writing.
Knowing I am far from over her and not hiding.
"Dear, let me explain."
No need.
The writing told her what to believe.
Another fight and bicker.
"Maybe you should have said something at the wedding."
Regretting ever getting married.
To me.
Yes.
I understand my love.
"Don't you call me love."
No remorse.
Its wide open as the silence creeps in while I remain silent.
Acting hoarse.
The rain is at play.
Goddamn...
That could have saved me from a world of complete shame.
Especially on the day of our anniversary where we said.
Let us be engaged.