Rain. Tiny little droplets of sadness; It causes people to react differently to it. Most people ignore the rain, and some see it as scary. Me, I stop what I’m doing and stare out the window. I drive all my attention to the patterns that the rain leaves on my window sill. The World stops turning whenever a single raindrop hits my face. Strange, some might think. I think of it more as comforting. The comforting rain soothes my soul.
I believe in sorrow. Tears filling the eyes of a once broken heart, cries at night for something, or someone, lost; or even the environment around you. Sorrow enters from anywhere, hitting you like a bullet anytime it wants to. At one point you could be unconditionally happy, but then you remember and turn into a state of depression.
Sorrow can take days, weeks, maybe even months, to heal. The hospital is a good place to find it. It supplies a perfect example of crying families, injuries, distress, and worry. I look around and see victims in stretchers, their families following closely behind, sobbing loudly. If you walked into a single waiting room, you would see people calm, magazines in hand. Some watch the daily news that only play horrendous videos about car accidents and destruction. The pastel-colored walls enhance a calm environment. Others socialize to hide their fear. The Children, completely oblivious, play their games as if nothing has happened. But if you looked deeper behind their masks, you would see the worry in these people’s eyes, their legs shaking with anxiety, fiddling with their clothes, begging to know if their loved ones are okay. Behind the walls, you could hear crying and doctors panicking. And all of them ignore the news.
I walked around the hospital, door after door, admiring the strength of these people. Mostly, I believed that the people inside the waiting room, braver than the patients themselves, stuck to their hope. With so much sorrow and pain, I couldn’t have enough strength as they do.
In a nearby room, tears welled up in a widow’s eyes as she strolled by her lost husband. She ran her hand over his face; the monitor no longer beeped. She murmured a small goodbye to him as the doctors rolled his stretcher elsewhere. It looked like someone drove a knife straight into her heart. The widow fell onto the bed and curled up into a ball, practically screaming about her husband’s death. “Don’t leave me, come back,” she repeated over and over.
Rain. Tiny little droplets of sadness; It causes some of the most tragic of sorrows. It makes people think, yet it makes an innocent person swerve out of control in a storm. Seeing the widow curl up into a ball that day made me change my perspective about the rain. From that day on, rain no longer gave that comforting feeling that it used to; It made me sad, and frankly, very helpless.
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