People say that the rain washes things away. Problems. Worries. Fears. Agony. Today the rain is different. With each drop that hits my skin, a drop of sadness enters in. Memories. Pain. Self-depreciation. This is not a good rain storm. This is not a friend. This is an undoing; a breaking down; an execution.

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was
               - e.e. cummings

The moments that feel like the end are often the end. The rain strikes one final time and seems to reach it's goal. But then it doesn't. The wind keeps blowing. The rain continues to fall. And the spiral tightens once again.

Is this all i was meant to be? A man tormented by rain and crushed by freedom? Is there more to find, more to become? Or is this the end?

Is today my expiration date?