Drenched-In-Adequacy

The rain comes, beating down, puddles gathering round in a conspiracy of wetness. A wetness that conspires to soak my shoes, my socks, my sanity. Stone cold buildings, architecture of another era, stand resolutely. They will not be moved. They will not be shaken by this affront. An affront to the cold of winter, the cold from whither we escape. Lossless purity in this rainsoaked misery of broken hearts and untold dreams. Dreams of a better day, of a better way to learn to say what I'm really thinking. Drenched. Drenched-in-adequacy, however hard I try to wipe it away, however much I want it to stay. And the rain it comes, beating down, puddles gathering round in this conspiracy. And so, as you conspire to soak my shoes, my socks, my sanity, I step outside. I stand resolutely. I will not be moved. I will not be shaken by this affront. You are the cold from whither I've escaped. This is no affront at all.