The look in his eyes was one of oblivion,
somebody wanting to forget sins and debts,
somebody that let the rain inside his soul.

He sat in the corner booth of the cafe,
tracing the rim of a cold coffee cup.
Each passing headlight on the wet street was a fleeting ghost.

He’d left the notebook open on the table,
the words screaming in blue.

The phone had stopped ringing days ago.
Now, there was only the rhythmic tap of rain against the window,
a sound that had seeped into his very core,
washing away the anger, the fear,
leaving only a hollow, quiet chill.

He wasn’t waiting for a miracle or a reprieve.
He was just waiting for the words to become complete,
for the water to finally erase the man he had been,
leaving no trace behind.