They are the only ones who humor me. I am the only one who adores them. Three stormy clouds with misunderstood excitement and a disastrous cover like mine. Three not with us, but above us. Three impossibly strong, toned clouds appear in a blink. From my room, I can feel them, but everyone else goes unphased, unaware.

Their strength is a secret. They plow through the clear, blue sky like a derailed high speed train. They gain momentum and bulge and shake the sky with their brilliant laughter and control the wind with calibrated persuasiveness and never quit their teasing. This is how they travel.

Let one forget his reason for being, they’d all disappear like dirty rats exposed to sunlight, each frantically scurrying over the backs of one another. Strong, strong, strong, clouds sing their song.

When I am too brittle and too broken hearted to keep being strong, when I am a grain of sand versus a twelve foot tsunami wave, then it is I look up at the clouds. When there is nothing left to look at on the ground. Three who formed despite happiness. Three who laugh and do not forget to laugh. Three whose only reason is to live and be free.