If Been

Raining on my memories
Is what ifs and might have beens.
An if falls with every drop.
A been surrounds with every splatter.
Between the drops, I try to glide,
The splatters, I spring around.
The drops on my head direct my thoughts.
The splatters by my feet direct my path.
While I waltz around in ceaseless circles
All avenues lead back to the past.
Eventually I tread the flowing floods
And I bathe completely in where I was.
The patter never fails to fall
When time seems entrenched in a loop.
If beening begins to be all there is
Then I have been ifing too long in the rain.