When it rains, I am mesmerized
By the soft tapping
of water droplets hitting
my window.
By the gentle whistling
of tree branches swaying
in the wind with each blow.

When it rains, he comes crying to me,
For he is haunted
By the constant ring
of raindrops slamming
against the window.
By the loud creaking
of tree branches hanging on praying
for the storm to slow.

I look out the glass screen
His hand in mine,
And think to myself:
How is it possible
For something so beautiful in my mind
To be nothing but an image of fear
In another's?