As I sit in this room, the smallest room in the house, I can feel little rain drops on my skin. I can feel the wind, and hear the thunder more vividly than anywhere else. My head is still slightly sore to the touch, and there is a little X where my heart should be. It's funny how 'love' works, and it is the most effective torture device I know of. It is almost like a ghost, filling you so full that physical manifestations appear, in pain and on skin. I would like to think I am loved, but I'm afraid to ask why.
There is a little kitten sleeping on my head. He does not ask for my love, but he gets more than any human in this little house. It's easy to love something that doesn't have to love you back, and doesn't mean it when it hurts you. He will never apologize to me, and that is perfectly acceptable.
There is a matching little broken window in my heart, and I can feel little rain drops on my skin. I know my time is limited, but I haven't figured out