Manalight, for the lack of a title.

It looks like the rain finally stopped. Three hours ago it was pouring without any sign of stopping. Everything outside still looks dead and gray. The only change I can see is that the haze of water that was drenching down is nothing more than an inconstant drip, drip, drip.
Right now, my mind is wishing to be at ten different places all at once. I know I can't be at any of them. Sitting here with music as somber and dead as the sky looks right now was definitely not a good idea. But that's irrelevant. At least there's nothing to distract me from it all. Then again, the distraction is usually what I look forward to. I don't think anyone really likes to sit down and think about everything that is going wrong with their lives right now. It usually brings forth self-pity, and that is one thing that I really don't need right now. Not to mention that if you really sat down and let all the problems sink you in, you probably wouldn't want to get out. It's funny, isn't it? Perhaps I'm the only one who feels that way.
I know that I should probably be doing something productive right now, so that I don't have to do it later when I really don't wan to. There's that procrastination digging at me again. Fuck it. I don't want to get up.
It's not night yet, but it sure as hell doesn't seem like it's daytime.
That poem by Pablo Neruda comes to mind. Both in Spanish and in English. If I squint my eyes closed and think back, I can hear her reading it to me, with the soft buzz of the phone droning it out. The words were still clear in my mind. They painted a picture of blue and red, and black.
But like it usually does, my mind wanders away from that thought, as soon as I remember her reading it.

She loved me, and sometimes, I loved her too.

The piano strikes down a note, and then violin jumps into it, and slowly the notes start to rise and fall. I can imagine her hands on the keys, and I can hear her playing. I wish I could watch her play again. I loved that.
It seems the rain outside has continued its drenching. This rain won't go away, no matter how much the world may be waiting for the sun. On the floor of my very small balcony I can see the pools of water gathering at the middle of the planks, and then overflowing into the holes. They're reflecting the gray shadows of the trees. The shadows don't seem to stay still, but that's just my mind playing tricks on me and the drops breaking the monotony.
Now the music changed once again. The piano no longer plays quaintly, but the drums beat down hard. The suspense of it is all too familiar to me.

Much too familiar.

And then I think of all the things I haven't said. Of all the times I could have vented them all out, all the times I could have trusted her--or anyone else for that matter--with the shit that really dug in deep. The shit that just trying to say made my voice crack.
Not that it really matters. I'm not really going to say it. I never really could. I guess I never really wanted to. If I didn't have some kind of secrecy about myself, then I would feel like anybody could hurt me. But does that even matter? Probably not. I just gotta keep telling myself that. I'd rather help them out than open up any more of myself. It's easier that way.
I think too much.
No, scratch that. I don't think enough.

Orz.
It stopped raining again. The flute plays nothing but somber notes in this song. I can almost see the entire orchestra, following through with each instrument adding up, and up, and up.
Then it stops. I can hear a completely different rhythm in the next room. I hear him singing it.

Let me feel like I'm the one who moves you--the only one you see.