Ripples from Raindrops: Patrick
By: ShinigamiForever

Tiptoeing through the library and he is illuminated by the back light
hiding shadows in more shadows and sometimes
I hate him more than he knows, arrogant with nothing more than
style and swiftly tilting waterfalls,

thundring through the silence with no one to hear him but the
invisible wings of forest birds, fluttering by the
molten green undergrowth of trees with barked skeletons.
Even I cannot hear his soundless escape and I believe I know him.

He is black even though maybe he is white and emptied out and-
(every little light plays out in his eyes)

I do not know him when he is crouched down on the shelves of books,
sliding pages of old books between his teeth.

Whistling tunes and pointing to fallen masses of temples, he
remains calm even when he is completely dark.
Over hill, over dale, dear Puck, over
nowhere are the fogs of the demons of your minds chasing broken dreams and a
girl with blond strands glying, who he can never catch.