Damn Regret

The nightly breeze has caught my face again. I look past what I could see. I look past what I ought to see. And I see nothing. The vagueness of everything suddenly captures me and I am mesmerized to the beauty of white stare. It is alone. It is shining. It is bright. but not too bright to make me see past the nothingness of the night, past the pain, past the misery.

My black hair is caught in midair, played by the chilliness of the night. And it gently batters my face - if only someone would see. I reach out to my face to remove the gentle patter and I smell you. It must be the breeze, the inevitable kissing of the wind to my cold cheeks. But, it is not. It is my hand. Something is wrong with my hand. I near it to my nose, and I smell you and I am once more enveloped in an elated feeling, a feeling unknown to me and to my being, a feeling, I thought I was forbidden to explore. The scent ponders me. It is you, and the one evening we have watched that single star join another. I am in cloud nine. The scent occupies me for a second, and then I lift my eyes from a hysterical trance and I see again nothingness. Nothingness, of which you could have saved me.

I am in cloud nine, but then clouds inevitably turn into rain.

It started to rain.