Rain falls like tears against the window pane
(the eyes are the windows to the soul)

My hand pressed against cold glass
reaching out to you
whereever you are
(home)

Sleepless nights
longing to feel you next to me
holding me
nothing bad could ever come
from you holding me

The wee hours of the morn are so lonely
(and how I mourn)

06/22/2003

Posted on 06/22/2003
Copyright © 2025 Amber B