Olivia In The Rain Poem by Rhys Owens

There's a new episode tonight;
a new form that's whipped in shape,
out side of space and time,
for now...

Don't you feel incredulous,
to be locked in a room by another David Robert Jones? —
Isn't it too much...all these joneses creeping
around, to have to keep up with...
before you find yourself locked in a room again;
with nothing to do but wait....

It's in the rain
you see your reflection,
there's so many of you.
You say you don't want me to hurt.
But it's the wind tonight
that blows you every which way;
or would, if still not locked in that room
on God only knows what poorman's Cortexiphan,
that keeps you from a new game.

If you decided,
and what a big decision,
in your mind;
I'd reach out as from a higher dimension
and pull you to me again,
in this personal personification,
in breaking the third wall,
(and the fourth kind...)
Olivia, you're so eager,
why won't you touch.

You're not like other girls.
I was there too; as a little girl,
I saw you in that unnatural snowy field of tulips.
I observe the observers;
a witness to your discontent.
All you want is not love,
you need something more first
to keep the fear fresh.

But you're locked in that little room, tonight.
The fear is still there,
it's always been there, but that's what you need.
You saw my shadow in the field that night...
and you weren't afraid, not for a moment.
There's something big watching you,
and like the Catholic Scully, you're not afraid...
but the fear is there.

We don't need Peter Weller and a time machine,
to save you,
there's that other Peter, too;
(how he seems to grow younger with every season) .
There is another figure, that sends Walter that picture,
that figures into this cinematic world of no coincidence.

Not everything happens for a reason,
and some things are added by me too,
for my own personal character development.
But Olivia, you're more than I say you are too.
You're not the only one sitting alone in a room tonight,
with someone you thought you trusted.

I admit, I see more in the rain too,
than what you feel reflected in your own green and red tinges
you're more than yellow too;
and there's not a tone you don't look good in.
You're reminding me of someone else:
in your own way.

But Olivia, after 79 episodes,
we'll see how much longer you sit in that room,
in a fear that's not a fear,
but a premonition,
of the end of all things,
only a glyph more than a sign of things to come.

A short story about love
in the '80s.
We were all so young.