Rain Rain, Go Away, Come Again Another Day

When the rain comes down, all I want to do is dream. Dream dreams that are sweet. Dreams that drown out the sound of rain. I really am dysfunctional. Some people hate the sun. I hate the anger that rain fills me with. I hate the cold. Rain really is like crying… Your body shakes, you feel cold and alone, and your face gets wet. Splatter. Splatter. Splatter.

I’ve never cried so that it splattered. Like in movies, when people cry, and they show the teardrops hitting the windowsill or whatever. That never happens to me. Oh wait… It did happen when I was writing in my journal, oh so long ago. Yes. That was rather tearstained. Ahh. How touching. Young torment. Wretched, I think, is the right word for me.