As far as I can understand it myself, running water brought me back to this life. I was indifferent to the world whether it went on with me in it or not. It’s just too much—these friends, this school, this sadness. I turn on the water, adjusting the knob to the red marking. He doesn’t want me anymore. I undress, leaving only my skin to save me from the coming heat. I am not good enough. I turn to look at myself in the mirror, narrowing my eyebrows with disgust. I am alone. I climb in, toss my body forward into the searing water. I allow the relent, the abuse. Feel anything but this right here and now. I drop to my knees, as the steam rises and swallows me, all consuming.

Months later, I found myself awakened to the sound of tapping rain on my windowsill, a favorite of mine. Jumping out of bed, I walked to my kitchen to watch the rain and sip on a morning coffee. Instead, I felt the urge to head outside and join the storm. Taking off my socks, I quietly opened the back door to prevent having to explain my juvenile behavior. The rain was gentle and inviting and so I followed its allure. I traced circles around my body with my toe in the puddles, my shirt becoming wetter and soaking into my skin. I allowed my arms to levitate towards the sky, building a force field around through a swirling momentum. As the rain picked up, the winds began to hum through the nearby trees, lifting my hair from my shoulders, dampening them into playful ringlets. The rain washed over my face, finding itself embedded in the crevice of my eyes, making light inescapable. With vision impaired, feeling was heightened. I raised my chin to the sky, inhaling the ease and soft delight into my soul. I never wanted to leave and I never wanted to be seen. I found myself there, where the sun is hidden behind clouds of grace, where its ring prevails through a seam of glory.