It's good to be here. Good to be alone.
The rain outside seems tired. It streaks thinly at such a speed you can barely see it. It's come from such a distance over days and days. It falls heavily to the ground, against the buildings, in your shoes, assured that something will inevitably get clean.
I can close my eyes and just listen to the tapping of the water drops against the window. How reassuring to have a single sound on which to focus. Helps to calm the mind; to clear away the garbage that typically clutters the consciousness of schedules, disappointments, worries, and troublemakers.
And once this space is made, once the excess is cleared away, the most real parts of me feel safe to reveal themselves. The parts of me without labels, obligations, or guilt come out of hiding.
That's when I find I'm not alone. Those I love, those closest to me and this safe place of being myself, all seem to walk around in my brain. I am sometimes surprised by how fortunate I am that so many people live there.
The rain almost pants. The water seems to beat into the rooms of my brain. The shower reminds me of my wealth in love, the lightness of it, that seeps into the folds of my mind like earth and becomes a part of me.
I can be here alone, but I'm never without the people that have helped construct the most precious parts of me.
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