And the rain keeps falling. Re loading. Again. Again. Again.
Re load. Re start. Re learn to be soft in the downpour.
I close my eyes. Let the water stitch itself into my hair, my collar, my clenched fists. One breath. Two. The sky cycles another round.
The window fogs like an unspoken thought. Outside, the rain doesn't fall—it reloads . Each droplet a chambered round, firing softly against the glass. Tap. Tap. Reload.
