Don’t be sorry for letting the rain in when you were thirsty. There’s cracks in the ceiling that are leaking and I trace them with my fingertips. I wonder how much pressure it can hold before the whole thing caves in. My mind is a drought. Nothing has grown for many seasons and all my thoughts are decaying. I’m numb again and you don’t know how to handle it. So I laugh when everyone is looking closely- I let my cheeks lift upward to show you I’m well. I’m great. I’m the storm but I can’t bring the rain. I’m holding it all in the clouds because sometimes I feel selfish. Sometimes I want to hang onto the saltwater for healing. Sometimes I want to dry up these bones and crack them open to see what treasure is buried in between. But maybe I’m not that special. Maybe I really am just the dust from which I came. Maybe I should stop feeling so sad for not fixing the leak in the ceiling. -AMT