I spend time, talking to myself. I say things that I know I wouldn't say. I say things that I feel are not okay. I even think that this other person is me, but I stop, laugh, and say I'm being silly.

Now, I spend time, singing to no one. I sing songs of love, of life, of being done with 'em. I sing alone, where nobody goes. I sing along with a tune nobody knows.

Even though I tell myself I am alright, that I'll do fine, I find myself saying otherwise. I stop, I cry, I scream and shout, "Why must I do this all the time? Why must I feel emotions, and think they are a crime?" I stop, I cry, I fall and dive into a shallow recess.

Through out this whole event, I can feel the rain. It comes in blankets, in sheets, it covers the earth as if it were a bed. I ease into the comfort of the cold, I wrap myself up in water, and feel the world drift away as I become numb to the pain.

What pain? The pain of loving, of laughing, of crying. The pain of losing someone, whether they're leaving, or they're dying. I recede to the rain, I recede to the blankets of cold drops to warm myself up.

After a while, after some hours, I leave this cold bed. I feel like I took a small nap to ease my burning head. My head now cool, now collected, I leave the house to a world that's red. I feel the dawn of a new day, a day filled with things not spoken, not seen, and that's what I dread.

I stay for a while in this red world. I stay, converse, think, and create. I see people, people who talk to guys and girls, who love and hate, who would rather have sex and date and copulate than chat, talk, of feelings that grate a person's plate. That's fine and dandy, but so is talking - or that's what I think of now.

It's when I feel stressed, when I feel overwhelmed, that I retreat into my own world redressed. I wrap myself up, I add water to my wet face, and I sleep, I rest.

It's in the rain. The feeling of freedom. In the rain, I am free. From you, from pain, from love, life, all things sweet. I am free. Free from me, and my cluelessness.