Weather

The pitter patter of rain splashes against the window, as my fingers touch the glass. Gingerly, I glide my fingertips down the glass, dividing the condensation with a clear view of the precipitation. Each new drop of drizzle, which spits on the glass, is met with a similar feeling in my heart. If my heart could cry, it would be sobbing. As the sky overflows with its collected waters, so does my heart.