I want the cherry.

I'm sitting by the window watching the rain and listening to raw water in the gutters.

I'm also seeping in the last light as it seeps away (with the summer), and feeling inside me, and on my skin, autumn's approach; and wondering why you've stopped your poetry writing; and liking that you're a computer nerd.

And feeling sad and happy, but more sad than happy, and wondering about the meaninglessness of life/my life.

Yearning to travel and live, I feel trapped in my own skin, my own life; I'm stuck in the pretty-looking chocolate sauce that covers the brownie. But I want the real stuff, to taste the brownie, to feast on the cherry.

I want the cherry.