cleaning up hiroshima

The grey haze of the rainy morning puts a gentle hush over the room. The morning after. Its strange and quiet this morning. Digging through the emotional rubble trying to understand what happened, again, I am overwhelmed. Overwhelmed, but not surprised. I hate to say it, but I told you so. I told you so, I told you so, I told you so, a hundred times over. But you were determined, and I... I was an innocent bystander. Unable to comprehend, and frozen with shock, I am debilitated. Lost. Confused. Still. Still digging through the rubble trying to find what's left of myself, I find the broken pieces of what once was. Arguments, fights, screaming, divorce. I've been here before. Digging still further I find more and more of these broken pieces. My hands are bleeding from their sharp edges. The pain still burns. I'm still digging. Why am I still digging? Why can't I find it? Find what? I don't know, but I'll know when I find it. I've been here before. I've been here before. It's still raining. It's always raining. But I have to keep looking. If I don't keep looking, I'll never find it. Find what? That thing. That thing that I lost the last time. When I was here before. I lost it then, and I still haven't found it. Did the rain wash it away? Rain can't wash away something like that. Of course it can, don't be silly. Then is it really gone? I don't know. I just don't know. Then I have to keep looking. Stop looking, you'll never find it. How do you know? Because we are the same, and I've lost it too. But... Come on, it's raining.