There he sits, the boy that I love. A beautiful creature, every imperfection perfect. Motionless as he stares out the window, lost in his own world, I can see it in his eyes. There is nothing out that window but rain, and clouds, every drop a tear. But he doesn't see this, he is seeing something else, something bigger than THIS, so aberrant, yet peacefully in rapture, the eye of the storm. Watching the clouds swirl, looking for something. So enticing, the sky dances across his eyes. Every second, he draws the storm closer, waiting for something, something, maybe a collision.His eyes glaze over, his expression becomes tense. Before he can fight it, the storm escapes, and his eyes come back, his face eases. He slowly leans his head back, his eyes gently closing in time. When his head is fully rested, his eyes are fully closed, his breathing evens out. His whole body relaxes, and the drops freeze on the window. His breath comes in slow bursts of white fog, blowing the icy drops on the outside of the window, until next time.
