hollow

Ask anyone who knows me. I never really liked to use an umbrella. I always loved the feel of the rain on my skin and the trickles which streamed down between my breasts. I love the cool sensation of wet droplets as they joined the sweat from a hard day. Yes, the rain was nice. Sometimes, without direction at all, I would walk out into the storm and sit upon the grass. I was oblivious to the threat of danger from stray lightning bolts. I was oblivious just the same of other's feelings sometimes. I could sit and compare the rain to the tears of others, the realism of their being and the reason why I dared the great heavens to strike me down.

All the umbrellas that were stacked by my doorway, got thrown into the goodwill bin several months ago when I decided that I couldn't feel. That every fiber of my being was a script for a play. I needed to make a symbolic attempt to feel empathy. My heart was a flaccid balloon which desperately tried to revive itself every time a sweet word was spoken into my ear. A heart that required so much but punished with so little. Guilty until proven innocent was the manical whisper I could hear as I slammed my fists down on my desk. The rain fell harder. Then I rushed outside to feel it.

I sat there for hours letting the water wash away my ugliness and try to give me reason to go on. A disease had spread within me and I knew just where it came from. He walked outside the door and looked at me. I forced a smile and glanced at my scars of self hatred. I wondered how normal it was to have flashbacks at the appearance of a loved one. I wondered how normal it was to cringe when someone appeared.

I wished that everyone I saw was not the same person with the same intentions for me. The rain fell harder. The tears that fell were virtually unnoticeable. But the warmth was a nice contrast that I could feel.