With each drip a new memory forms, from the time I use to splash in puddles to the time I made my own. You never realize how hard things can be until every good thing you have ever known has been pulverized underneath the burden of responsibility has finally landed on your shoulders. When my mom used to say ‘I wish I was a kid again’ every time I would say ‘I wish I was older’ I never understood the pain and jealousy that clouded her eyes. What parents don’t tell you when you are a kid is something that has preyed upon me for years. They keep deep dark secrets, the kind of secrets that can tear a family limb from limb. If they had told me from the beginning I’m not sure I would have made it to see another decade of pain. The fog, created from the frozen air outside mixed in with moisture trying to push its way inside where the heat of the home traps all the warm air where nothing can touch it. They keep the heat hidden like the pain no one knows about. The door of the house smiles and keeps everything real locked up inside, no one can know the truth, what life is really like. A clap of thunder shakes the whole neighborhood; people start to wonder what is going on in that house, the door however will let know one know the truth, the ‘I feel down the stairs’ or the ‘I dropped a pot’ because we all know how someone so neat and organized can fall down the stairs and drop pots. Some day’s people start to ask questions but when a lie is told they do not seem to notice or care enough to keep asking or even to make sure that the cuts weren’t caused by a kitchen accident. The lightning strikes each strike calls for attention without asking for it and now she has had it. She cannot let the sounds of agony grow in that captivating house. No one will understand the secrets each house holds until someone has the courage to knock on the door. Just brush the teardrops off your windshield and move on because someone will clean up the mess you left.