I write about things that matter,
Like the earthworms that step out of the planters and unintentionally die,
Despite all my attempts to save them,
Or that silly girl Daisy Mae, who is actually a beautiful black raven with the most distinct caw.
I rarely write about rains because that’s what everyone does.
But no one is willing to write about the serene sadness that grows within,
When the first drop of water hits your face.
No, not me.
For I write about things that matter,
The pigeon cooing outside my window, looking for food for its babies,
The bougainvillea that fought against all odds to survive,
The greatest metaphor for life right there in my balcony.
So believe me when I say that I write about things that matter,
Because I inadvertently end up writing about you.
yesnobutwhy 