I Want But I Am Not

I want to be the rain
that dances on your skin in a thunderstorm.
The droplets that cleanse away the sin and the hurt of yesterday.
I want to be the sheets
that tangle around you at night.
The fabric that clings to you in the moments of despair.
I want to be the pen
that you hold between your fingers when you write.
The words that flow from its ink that tell your stories and secrets.

But I am not the rain.
I am merely a light drizzle that evaporates.
I am not the sheets.
I am merely a thread that has come unraveled.
I am not the pen.
I am merely an empty page.