storms

dear guilt,

i sit here in the warmth of my blanket, cuddling further into my heat source as i hear the heavy rain slam against the outside walls of my home.

the wind is raging like a mad man on a mission; the rain falls hard like angry tears.

the frigid cold touches all in a desperate attempt to feel- to hold on.

all the while the young man on the streets fights the wind with silence despite the bones in his body telling him to scream and run.

he bares the rain with utmost indifference, no longer able to distinguish the difference between his tears and the rain.

he shies away from the cold, his trembling hands betraying him as they bring his knees to his heaving chest.

he can feel his heartbeat gradually become slower, his skin growing wrinkly, and he wanted nothing more than to be able to shed that skin.

i sit here, helplessly, calling out to that young man, praying that he hears me when i say,

"the storms will always come but they will never stay."