Friday, January 27, 2012

The excitement of the rain falling hard on a hum-drum town.
Reveling in the memory of how you felt storms.
Running out. Arms outstretched and giddy. The pounding rain soaking you to the bone.
The golden moment where your mischievous nature met nature's mischief.
And the moment where your eyes met mine
and there was no fury nature could unleash
that could stop my beating heart.

But this storm doesn't just bring in your memory,
but brings a friend bloody and in hospital.
And life suddenly becomes real.
And you are only a ghost.
A ghost that murmurs to me in the sound of the rain pounding the pavement.
Tonight I'd like to run out into that storm and into your arms and never let you go.
But it's cold, and it's dark, and you're too far away to feel this rain.

-from the desk of S.C. Browne

Tuesday, January 17, 2012


I miss you everyday. So much.

But I don't call.

And I don't write.

Because you need to find a life that makes sense.

Like I do.

And if I didn't love you as much as I do I couldn't do this.

But I do it everyday without you.

In hopes that when you come out the other end...

I can be there.

-from the desk of S.C. Browne