where the rain waits

I built walls to keep rejection out, but now even love can’t find the door.

The rain arrived early, sneaking in with the pale gray of morning.

It hadn’t let up.

Through a cracked window, it drummed steady on the glass—not loud, just persistent. Like the sky muttering warnings no one could quite catch.

Inside, the apartment felt colder than usual. Not the kind of cold blankets fix, but the kind that worms under your skin and stays. I was curled up on the couch, knees drawn in tight, clutching an old coffee mug that had lost its warmth hours ago.

The chipped rim pressed against my thumb as I traced it in slow circles.

I knew every crack, every stain.

I’d thought about tossing it before, but there was something comforting about holding onto things that were a little busted. Familiar, in a way that felt hard to let go of.

The phone buzzed on the cushion beside me, sharp and annoying, demanding attention. A message. I ignored it.

My chest tightened just thinking about what it might say—someone checking in, someone I probably should respond to. But even the idea of ty…