Esoteric

You're painting with watercolors in the sky every time you blink through this rainstorm that the gods have created to make everything more difficult to see.
Driving alone, listening to the music of the street lights bounce back at you from the dashboard, there are empty boats filled with empty bottles that have emptied people because nobody really appreciates the sensation of being alive. It's hard to breathe, yes, but you're breathing.
I'm at the junction that will take me to the place that people told me that I need to be. But, I'm merging through traffic and it seems like maybe there's another choice.
I'd like to learn to speak silently so that standing next to you, I can still hear your voice in libraries and cemeteries and museums.
It's getting greener. There's something about the way the rain clears the vision so that suddenly everything that is beautiful can be seen by everyone.
Someone once said that seeing is believing, but frankly I've got a much more esoteric view on things.
I'm the stranger. You're the sun. You're driving me mad, but I feel everything. I appreciate being alive.

It hurts to breathe, but I'm too busy breathing in you to notice.