Even Rats

I want you to curl up with a good book.

I want it to be my book.

A girl can dream, can’t she? It seems to me that’s what these rainy days are for. Dreaming.

I’ve been dreaming all day. Lost in a haze. I get tired when it rains like this, but so tired I cannot sleep. It’s like the whole world waits, but it knows not what it waits for. This is the day you won’t remember, next year.

I kind of feel like writers are sponges. We soak up everything we can until were rung out, and all the fluid just leaks and lathers. Then we get dry, and repeat the process.

I am in the absorbing process as I write this. I’m absorbing many things. I wish they were tangible. Oh so tangible, and easy to grasp. Ok, maybe not even easy. But just graspable period.

But they are not. And neither is this rain.

There were no empty seats inside when I stopped for coffee earlier, and my mom called. I sat in my car talking to her until I ended up at my grandparent’s house. I went around back and knocked on the glass. My grandma looked at me for a second, making sure of who I was. Let me in. It’s cold and wet out here.

Even rats want out of the rain.

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