Short Poem #1

I sit beside the window’s frame, And count the drops that spell your name. Each one a wish, a thought, a plea, For something more than just “to be.” The city hums — a distant tune, A life that moves while I maroon. I want to shout, but who would care? I want to run — to where, to where? So here I stay, with quiet hands, And watch the rain reclaim the land. A lonely soul, a gentle ache, Still waking up, still yet to break.