Sometimes rain refuses to reflect its origins. Why must I mirror those who came before me? Do I not have a choice in what I say to the world? How this is forever out of my control. I can see you looking at me. You think your glance went unnoticed but I was waiting for it. Sitting here, pretending patiently. The hunger for validation and the upheaval of isolation spars with each other like rain ignoring its birthplace. I can see you Darlene. You haven’t answered any of my texts and I know you are home. I can see the bloody kitchen light from here. I’m sorry I forgot to pick up bread on the way home. You know it’s raining and my bike totally shits itself in the rain. Just give me a sign, please. It’s cold and my socks are wet. You know I hate wet socks.