perspiration, a permanent fixture.
the clouds continue, however
right above.
dark and impending,
in the strangest form.
run, i try.
in more ways than one.
but only above me,
the clouds seem to hover.
i look up, i wonder why.
was it that dream i had?
the one without you?
perhaps the clouds will,
someday follow someone else.
i wait and i wait,
patience i thought, will pay off.
if i only stay quietly in wait.
it never seem to be so,
have i been just a fool?
i try and i try.
to make myself believe,
the clouds were meant to be,
that they have always been.
but my friends they tell me,
clouds never follow them,
that i must be mistaken.
i look up, those clouds, still there.
thick and dark, like dirty cotton buds.
hanging just right up there.
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