pitter-patter

     I awoke to the gentle pitter-patter of rain on the rooftop. I opened my eyes to find I've slept through most of the day, it's 4pm. There's a heavy storm going on outside, and it's cold is creeping into my house. I pull a blanket over my head and walk towards the window.

     When I'm at the window I can see truly how hard the storm is actually coming down. The ground is flooded with about a good 2 inches of water. Just looking at the rain reminds of that day, and how I disappointed her..... I use

d to love the rain, but now I'm not aloud in it, for it brings back a painful sting of a harsh memory.

     The rain was once a safe haven for me, drawing out my hidden feelings that I didn't care to actually admit to myself that I felt. I couldn't keep secrets from myself, and it let the truth trickle of my skin like the rain itself. Sometimes in waves at a time, but being careful enough not to let me sink. But, since that day the rain was now a suffocating whirlpool that ripped my true feelings from myself not caring if I drowned or not. Maybe that was exactly what I needed, or maybe it would be to much. But I've been debating if I still am lying to myself about how I feel about death and withering away.

     Yet, alas I will sit here in my self pity listening to the familiar, yet haunting, sound of sadness trickle down my window. Pitter-pat pitter-pat. But then I look up to see her, and I almost smile, but I refuse it and instead shake my head in disappointment for myself.