Heavier the rain falls by the minute, each bolt of lightning a flash of memory. With the sound of thunder it's almost as if I can still feel your hand on my face. You're not dead but your ghost lingers, your scent arising at the most random of times. Conversations muffled and drowned out made few by the rain. Sounds echo of the walls of this cavetown bringing brief comfort but leaving me more empty each time. Words only given meaning by you can just as easily become meaningless. I dig my grave and then fall into it hoping it will bring me closer to you. Staring at the stars laying on my back I wonder if they're already dead, if we're already dead.
