Neither longing for someone,
nor restless for a soul,
nor waiting for a face
I once called home.

When the rain begins its wild procession,
when the sky grows heavy with sorrow,
I ask for nothing—
nothing, and nothing more.

I have grown tired of promises,
of footsteps fading down the hall,
of names that once meant everything
and now mean nothing at all.

Let the rain fall hard tonight.
Let every window tremble with its sound.
I have no one to wait for,
and no one I need around.

Once, I believed that love could stay,
that hearts were made to beat as one;
but love, like rain upon the pavement,
falls—and then it is gone.

So I keep my silence company,
and let the lonely hours pass.
No hand to hold, no lips to call,
no shadow waiting in the glass.

And if your memory finds me
somewhere between midnight and dawn,
I will not ask it to remain,
nor beg it not to be gone.

For I have learned the quiet language
of a heart that asks for nothing—
no promises, no yesterday,
no tomorrow coming.

Neither longing for someone,
nor restless for a soul,
nor wishing for another's presence,
nor needing to be whole.

Let the rain make its thunder.
Let the night become a sea.
I have made peace with being alone;
there is nothing left for me.

Nothing.

And nothing more.

Only the rain,
only the silence,
only a heart
that no longer waits.