The lonely lady wanders under the twinkle of the stars. Her golden hair, soft, caresses her body, nuzzles her neck. The stars spatter across the twilight sky, bouncing in reverse. The munching of leaves on a darkened sidewalk. The wind shyly ripples, a pleasure, bliss. The solitude of early mornings, withholding delicate feelings. The slender girl gazes at the blossoming day to come. Vacant.

The wind and howls of the night critters create a calming song in her head. Soon raindrops join in and thunder as well, the perfect symphony. The wind act as the strings - bass, cello, viola, violin. The raindrops are the sweet wind instruments, soft but prominent - flute, oboe, and piccolo. The thunder, the large and dominant beats - percussion. This song guides her to a place she’s never been before.

The bench. A green wooden bench under a tall maple tree along the town's bike path. It is all so familiar to her. Flashbacks of biking with friends and walking the dog. This bench is full of sweet memories, except for now. The tears across her face have now been blended in with the rain. Her clothes are wet and heavy. Her hair covers her face in a curtain like manner. She is far too upset and it is far too late to care of her appearance now.

She finally sits on the bench and tries to think, tries to clear her head. She tries to think of all the reasons why she is here, why she is beneficial to this world. She can’t, she can’t, she can’t. She tries harder and the sobs escaped her body like a force of a 10 mph winds. She can’t of reasons to stay but she can think of many to go. She had one reason to stay, him. But he is nothing now. He is nothing to her and She is nothing to him. The storm has stopped.