She sat on the cold ground, chin resting on knobby knees.  A crisp wind rustled through autumn leaves and stole away the tears welling in her eyes.  She didn’t feel depressed, or suicidal, but a sweet melancholy rested heavy on her soul, a cloying weight that wrapped itself around her bones. 

            It was reassuring, in a way.  She still felt, and even though cynicism was slowly eating its way into her spirit, a strong streak of hopeless romanticism held the tattered shreds of her deepest self together.  The melancholy and romantic in her danced slowly, turning over and over, creating a dark, strangely satisfying sensation that kept the cold from biting through every joint. 

            Gray clouds rolled over her head, prompting her to haul her languidly tired body off the grass and lazily dust her pants off.  She shut the door quietly and sat on the worn pads on the window seat, staring up at the panes of glass being spattered with the first drops of rain.  Fingertips resting on the window, she leaned her forehead against the glass, closing her eyes and wallowing in the rich, dark fullness of her melancholy.  She sang softly in French, a song about spring and lovers.  Her rainy day music curled in between the pattering drops rolling leisurely down beside her.

            She craved the feel of warms arms circling her loosely, or the whisper of someone else’s breath stirring her hair.  She wanted to know the resonance of a soft voice vibrating through her skeleton, stirring the hairs on the back of her neck merely with their presence.  Silent communication, the intertwining of souls. 

            Sighing and stretching, she opened her eyes to the deepening rain.  Seemingly destined to wait, her heart ached, crooning softly its lonesome state.  

**Weird, no? I was in a truly strange mood when these saccharine words poured themselves out like too much syrup on pancakes.  Ok, even that was weird! Gah, ending this now. **