The rain against the windowpane

I used to be a child

that wasn't afraid to drown

in her own sadness when she knew

that someone else was suffering more than her;

"Don't be afraid! I am here with you!" the child cried out

and prayed that the world would stop crying.

I used to be a teenager,

floating in the tears of hers and someone else's mixed together.

She didn't care whose, as long as she wasn't alone.

I used to be an adult -

I still am -

but my body feels old, my soul detached, and my prayers sound odd

that the rain against the windowpane makes me mad

and sad

and frustrated

and distressed

and confused

and depressed

and lonely

that I drown in the blankets in an aging room,

listening to the insufferable "pitter patter."