it is very late at night. br my forehead is pressed to br the moist, wet window, and the br drizzling from the silent, gray billows br is patting the pane, my thoughts, br the Bible in my hands. br br in my head, you are right br here with me, with your forehead br pressed to mine, our hearts both br drifting in the silence, the pattering; br i wonder to myself, so quietly, br if you're often missing me. br br the downpour on the window, br forms a familiar shape I know: br i'll be the umbrella that you br picked up accidentally- br i'll always be here, to keep br the drizzle away.