The thunderstorms are gatheringing again,
rushing and pressing to cool the air around me.
Suburbia is what we aspire to be,
yet fufilling your dreams can be stifiling.
There is a sense of unrequited love when I think of her, a sense of an unfinished life that I have yet to lead.

But mostly a sadness for the humidity that muddles my memories and constantly leaves me wanting,
more.....
...time, laughs, genuineness.
It all goes so fast and I forget to input the moment.
I forget to record and hold it,
hold you,
little or big
and remember it is always my place to shelter her/him/them from the rains.
But the air can be so stifiling ..
and sometimes a piece of me misses the not knowing and the irresponsibility.
Even among the curls that surrounds their faces,
I see their eyes watching me,
and the thunderstorms gathering.
Will I ever be happy to just be, is there such thing as a fufilled me?

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