it is very late at night. <br />my forehead is pressed to <br />the moist, wet window, and the <br />drizzling from the silent, gray billows <br />is patting the pane, my thoughts, <br />the Bible in my hands. <br /> <br />in my head, you are right <br />here with me, with your forehead <br />pressed to mine, our hearts both <br />drifting in the silence, the pattering; <br />i wonder to myself, so quietly, <br />if you're often missing me. <br /> <br />the downpour on the window, <br />forms a familiar shape I know: <br />i'll be the umbrella that you <br />picked up accidentally- <br />i'll always be here, to keep <br />the drizzle away.<br /><br />Antoine Lavoisier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-familiar-shape/
