The rain falls without mercy and I stand under its harsh raindrops. The cold seeps onto my skin, adhering my shirt to my body. My anguish is no match for the weather. It’s more of an expression, an epitome of my emotions. I trace the path my tears left on my cheeks, their trails mingling with the rain. I feel a wave of warmth come and go followed by a wave that made me stand up straight. A voice draws me home, but I still feel like I’m drowning, not deliberately of course. I question any motive to walk home, but I remain under the storm. I know for certain that I don’t want any part of this storm, but anywhere I go, anything I say will add to the turbulence. I open my mouth and bare my teeth. I lunge forward with everything I have and throw up my arms. My voice cracks and I force it out even more until it screeches through the night. The golden orb in the street lamp quivers and my fingers follow the sacred dance. The rain pauses and hovers in the air, listening to my cries. My feet tremble, but my voice remains steady until I grasp for air. I cry, “It has rained for 10 years and I’m so tired! We are all tired. Right now, I speak for the world. We want the warm, golden sun again!” The rain continues falling. The thunder rolls again. The lightning strikes the ground, ten feet from where I stand and my hairs stand on their ends. My entire body trembles and I quickly shut my mouth. I say nothing for now. It’s too dangerous. I jolt my feet awake and begin my journey back home. I know for sure I’ll dry on the way there even though the sun isn’t making its debut anytime soon. The pain we carry silences our voices to the point where we struggle to venture outside. For the rain, I let my voice out. For the storm, I try to calm it by raising my voice above it. For the sun, I want to encourage it to come back. Maybe I have the power. Because of the rain, I am no longer afraid because my voice has made an imprint after it had been numb for so long.