LC#8

"I missed the sound of your voice, and I miss the rush of your skin."

The rain pitter-patters on the roof over my head,

I hear the roar of the puddles, 

When cars drive by,

There are whispers that I hear, 

Yet i leave them as thoughts unsaid.

As if truths had fallen from the sky..

This turned out poetically unpleasing, she thought.  

feeling rather distraught,

the right words would not surface,

No matter how hard I tried.