The city is crying in your absence.

I walk down silvered paths,

huddling in my winter jacket

(toward the end of spring)

against the wind

and splashes of passing cars.

Too tired at work to vocally mourn,

I instead just brood in silence,

touch my muppet-fur coat

and marvel at what the water has done to it.

If you were still here,

I would grin about it

and babble on about how cool it feels.

But the rain pours down outside

and I trudge through the store,

cursing every moment since you left.

It never seems to end;

the steady stream

going past the window.

All night I stare,

forgetting about the things

I should really be doing.

I daydream about dark-lined

mahogany eyes.

I hold silent conversations

with my absent lover.

The sky is streaming,

such tears in the dark.

The city is crying

so I can pretend I’m strong.