I used to stare at the rain that fell outside my window.
I was a child, mindlessly watching. Mindlessly staring.
My finger would find itself tracing each droplet,
connecting with another, gliding its way down.
The days that the sky would open up were days that were peaceful.
Curled with a blanket,
with a movie.
Now, during the days when the sky opens up, so do my eyes.
They see the piles in the back of my mind,
my fingers no longer traced a droplet but glide across a keyboard
the coolness of the windowpane under my touch now turned to the sharp cuts of equations and essays
the haze and fog of the sky that lingered became the darkness of my room and mind as i lay awake overthinking if “c” was the right answer
if i needed to put in an extra five minutes for my countless hours of torturous studying
no, the days that the sky opened up were no longer ones of comfort but ones of work and effort.
effort i put in that spat out little results in my face
effort i put in that caused so many restless nights that neither all my fingers nor toes could capture the numbers
effort i put in just for the girl in the corner to ask if i could give her my paper
effort i put in, while the rain attacks my windows, making the sounds of pebbles hitting into one another.
So I sit at the table, with cuts forming around my fingers, in my forced cubicle of unsettled air,
droplets still hitting my paper and the earth,
for it’s still rain falling.
