Cold Feet

The rain whips against my window,

droplets flung from late evening gloom

to drip down the glass

in twitching rivulets of fractured street lamp light.

There's nothing wrong with tonight,

at least not that I can put a finger on.

Heavy storm clouds have soaked up

any residual afternoon light,

leaving puddles of shadow

in the corners of my room.

My posture is uncomfortable,

but my mind is on other things.

Why am I so nervous to be happy?