endangered experiences.

i think you're weird.

rain falls and everyone scatters as if it's a meteor shower. i know the girls with the shimmery shirts and black pumps are running because when their clothes become soaked, the world will see that half of the female population has gone commando. i walk down the street with great leisure, the rain sliding down the nape of my neck and down my back to where it pools at the small of my back before jumping onto my jean's waist band. i don't walk in the rain because i'm depressed or because i need a bath; i walk in the rain because no one seems to do it anymore. it's like it has become an endangered experience, almost. so i walk alone down the cement strips with a blank expression, my eyes focused on nothing and everything. palm trees walk next to me, guiding me to beaches where i walk in the surf. sometimes i wonder if sharing these experiences with you will make them more memorable. make them more special and interesting. and then i think about how if you were here, i couldn't have sat in the water, instead of on the sand. i couldn't have spoken to the boy with the purple umbrella and told him where my favorite pizza joint was. the way i just sat under the pier and looked out to the horizon, wondering and pondering life's secrets and my own issues. i couldn't have sat there for hours if you had been there. of course i want you there, but then again...i don't.