The weather always seems to mirror my feelings. At birthday parties, it’s always sunny and bright. When I broke my arm, a huge storm came up, complete with thunder and lightening.

So it makes sense, now, for it to be raining.

I stare out my window, watching the sky cry. I feel one with the sky right now; I feel vast, spread across the Earth.

I curl myself tighter, imagining I am the sky hugging the Earth. We cry together, the sky and I, until the sun and the moon switch places and darkness falls.

I continue to stare out my window, up at the sky. The downpour has changed to a drizzle, and my eyes only occasionally squeeze out tears. I am the sky; the sky is me.

I try to tell myself that everything will be ok, but I don’t listen to me. In the sky there is a hint of the moon, but it is overpowered by the clouds.

Soon the rain stops all together and my tears run dry. I still stare out my window, my face solemn and pale. Outside, the moon shines down through clouds of gentle grey, showering the rooftops with soft, weak light.

I think about what happened, and I decide what’s done is done. There’s no way to go back, back before the storm, no way to undo it.

And, I think, maybe the rain isn’t such a bad thing after all. The Earth needs it to survive. Maybe we need the pain, too. Maybe, without the hurt, we couldn’t know happiness. Without the rain, there would be no sunshine.

As the sky lightens, a small smile stretches across my face. The sky mirrors me, of course, making way for the sun, because I am the sky.