on rainy days i sit by the window

and think a bit too much.

tonight a raw wind flings heavy raindrops

onto the window pane, where they

splatter like paintballs, quiver, then

trickle resignedly down the chafed glass.

when it rains my room always smells

damp and clean but tonight it smells like tears.

that’s what i’m thinking a bit too much about right now,

about why my room smells like

sadness and anger and everything in between.

the rain is especially vicious tonight.

it cuts deep but doesn’t bleed,

it hurts but says it’s okay,

deafening but deafened.

and i still sit by the window, quietly

observing, just

observing.

i think the rain is crying and perhaps

it’s ashamed of that,

and shame always grows into hate

and hate always grows into anger.

another raindrop slams into the window

right next to my face but i don’t flinch.

i’m waiting for the rain to stop crying

because everyone stops crying at some point.

sometimes it takes mere minutes

and sometimes it takes days.

i’m willing to wait, though.

i wait and sit by the window

and think a bit too much.