Distance

A tiny parade of raindrops slip down the glass, a window's breadth apart but feeling a world away.
Yesterday's sorrows swirl within those watery pearls, and cast their chill through to my nose, pressed lightly against the pane.
Even as the water sweeps away a film of dust, the sheet adds its own blur, and I struggle to see the street outside, unwinding itself farther away from me and in a way to who my thoughts lie upon.
She would be sleeping now, peacefully, oceanic miles away, in her bed, lost in her own rainfall of dreams.
Hushed voices were floating in the downpour, laughter of children, friends, not apart but together, splashing away at endless puddles.
And I was inside my room, feeling the rain transform into thoughts and emotions, phase through the window, into me, and spill onto paper.

The lights were warm outside.
Hallowed warmth, flying from the cars that returned late and sputtered to nightly slumbers upon the driveways outside.
And yet what I wanted couldn't return to me; she was close, but as close as the rain was to me- a finger's touch apart but blocked by the glass.
Times spent laughing, joking, caring- I wonder if she remembers each one- etch themselves onto the film of rain
Touching the glass, I imagine her with me here, reaching from the other side of the window, her smile dispersing the rain, lighting up the gloom.
Even some months later now, I wonder if when she awakes today, she knows how much I am missing her.