I watched the rain fall and wondered if it envied the ground for having something to hold it. Each drop seemed to chase purpose as it slid down the glass, but they all ended the same: broken, absorbed, forgotten.
The room was silent, except for the gentle tapping of water against the windowpane. I stared for so long that the city lights beyond became nothing more than blurred stars on a canvas of black. My thoughts were louder than the storm — but at least the rain had an excuse for falling apart.
I pressed my forehead to the cold glass and imagined the rain and I switching places. Maybe I could dissolve into the storm, be part of something larger than myself, and finally stop pretending I was whole. The rain fell because it had no choice; I stayed because I didn’t know how to let go.
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