From my warm chair, I watch it move.
I know it is cold and alone,
It slides slowly and then picks up speed;
And then it is gone from my box view into it’s world.
While my traitorous vision won’t confirm it,
I know it is another drop of rain.
I wish sometimes I could storm and thunder.
I want sad droplets to make their treks down my face,
Not my window.
But I know with an alarming certainty that it won’t happen.
I turn my anger on my sorrow and build walls against the rain.
I hear, “You don’t have to be strong,” and I toughen my resolve.
I hear, “It’s okay to cry,” and I set my jaw against emotion.
I hear, “We care,” and suddenly,
A wall that took all of my effort to build
Becomes a door.