Muse: The most 'depressing' night in a while.

He sits. I ask him if he likes the rain and he says, "I find it soothing".

And down on the pavement, the puddle grows as if the drops from heaven were for it alone, and as if to concur with him, the puddle whispers with each drop of rain into it's body, perhaps begging to be heard. "But, I can hear you", I tell her.

"I am not mysterious", he said, a while ago.

But how can this be?, I think. I can hear you too.

His eyes gazes in a distance not calculable and he doesn't know it is so. As is all things, mystery is what your eye does not want to see.