The Sky Is Peeing. No, seriously you guys...

The sky is peeing. No, seriously, you guys, it's been pouring for an hour. The clouds took away the mid afternoon rays, and brought forth torrents. Lightening split the city sky, and thunder irritated every chihuahua.
Now it's reduced to a drizzle. Gutters and flowerpots overflow, and street lights come on prematurely.
I sit here on this cool porch. Goosebumps on my legs. Birds chirp and flitter around, as if gossiping about their discombobulated nests- as we do about our precious vinyl siding.
I hear my sister's wailing saxophone out of our dining room window. I can smell the neighbor's lilac bushes. Sweetness. Like a dark, curly haired child wearing a lacy dress in front of an old blue Victorian house. Maybe even playing with a Cocker Spaniel puppy. It's that sweet.

I'm never disappointed by this porch. I've written songs on the wall, been broken up with on the swing. Enjoyed laziness,  sitting in the plastic chair late in July, watching fireflies and drinking Snapple. I've talked for hours on the phone, dreaming up restaurants, and concerts, and lifetimes.
Sometimes when no one is home, I sing. I sing improve, rhyming things in desperation and thinking aloud what I'm always too afraid to say. As a child, I wished that one day I would sing a song and in the distance hear the voice of my one true love finishing the verse- just like Snow White.
When I sit on the white painted wall here in the heart of Akron, I can't help but imagine him walking my way, down the cracked sidewalk. Hands in his pockets. The breeze would toss his shaggy hair, and he'd look up at me, and... smile.
Somehow I don't think I'll ever see this inner city fairy tale come true. But I'm alright with that. If it did, it would likely be indicative of us not going to school together. In all fairness, he could be anywhere. The other side of the tracks, or the other side of the world.
What a thought.
What a longing, pathetic, stupid, teenage dream. Hah. I'll probably find some young, tall, Caucasian, doctor who's a baseball fan.
But I'm really not worried about that right now. I'm just gonna sit here, eating my french toast.
I'm going to make myself a promise: I'm going to enjoy this front porch without thinking about boys, or school, or the world, or working, or how messy my room is. I won't live here much longer. I won't have this swing forever.