I pray for rain everyday.
I wait for the stagnant calm before the storm, for the moment I can think of you and your fucked-up furniture, your quilts and quotations.
Your alliteration and your argyle.
I laugh, detached, as I think of how you cannot open your drawers or your heart.
The humidity locks you into your safe haven, unwilling to socialize.
Until the rain arrives,
I am blissfully ignorant.
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