My heart is a desert, with only one flower. The sun beats down day after day leaving me parched and dry, draining away the slightest dew that falls. Once there came clouds and a promise of rain. I quickly tore through the calloused crust and exposed the soft rich soil beneath. It did rain, a little, but then, the sun beat down again, mercilessly singeing and stabbing the tender heartsoil. That is why I do not trust the shining faced clouds, I cannot. Maybe someday, it will rain for a week, or two weeks, or a month. Maybe then I’ll throw away that crust, maybe then I’ll feel at home in my house, and maybe then my flower will flourish. But until then, I will, I must stay behind my wall, the flower of love is all I have, and I cannot let that die.