I woke early on Sunday morning to the sound of hail and rain pounding on the roof of the apartment. I turned over in my warm, soft bed that is all my own. I looked over at the clock that told me it was 5:45am. The second hand tic-tocked ever so slowly; almost in harmony with the down pour. I collected myself, wrapped my warm blankets around my shoulders, and left the safe haven of my bedroom. I stepped out onto the covered balcony and sat in the lawn chair my mother used to sit in while watching my soccer games. I sit and watch gallons of water and ice fall from the sky. It was very peaceful, to smell, hear, and see the rain but also be warm and covered. The pine trees around our building stood tall in protest to the storm. The clouds get darker by the minute, at yet the trees stand tall. I would like to be a tree; always stand up straight, never trip or stumble no matter how much rain is being dropped on you, but only grow taller.

Sitting there and watching the rain, and wishing I was a tree made me realize that I’d rather be covered in bark and leaves than be this lonely.