It may never stop raining, and I still haven’t heard from you. As I sit here, sopping wet on the inside and lightly damp on the outside. Huddling beneath blankets in my mind, wrapped up tightly on top of pillows while the sun refuses to shine. The world will never be warm again, because the coldness of alone in bed is a problem that is not being fixed by your perpetual absence. And I wonder what the weight on your mind one single text message would cause, and why is that weight too much to bear? So I sit here, sobbing rain drops, and the hush patter of the puddles filling up soggy in the corners of my eyes. And I wonder if I’ll ever hear from you again, but, in the meantime, I’m filling up the bathtub with champagne, where I plan on drowning myself, despite the fact that the weather has already killed me.