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Rain Falls

Sitting in my room, music filters the sound of raindrops that pitter on the wooden deck outside my window. In the distance, I hear the horn of the ships that traverse the bay; every so often, the oncoming bells of the cable car mark the turn of the hill from Columbus up Mason Street. I am reflective because I am thinking about a girl, someone who I like and who likes me. Still, little is meant to be, distance and circumstance conspiring to leave me empty but for a moment's reflection on the possibilities of our connection. Alas, the chance is remote - we live in different cities on different coasts. We are barreling down different paths in slightly different ways - and yet we are stongly and vaguely similar. This leaves me confused slightly, a state of inexplicable lack of explanation.
I should know better anyway - these things never quite make sense. Still, the rain falls.

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