Drip.
I watch the rain.
Drop.
I watch it fall.
While I watch, I wait.
I wait for the rainbow that comes after the rain.
I wait.
I wait to be noticed.
I wait to be revealed.
I wait to fly on my wings.
While I wait, I struggle.
I struggle with the bindings and chains
that hold me to this earth.
I struggle against the winds that blow me back.
I struggle against the waves that wash me to shore.
I struggle against the sand that pulls me under.
Why?
Shouldn’t the winds carry me through the sky,
supporting my wings so I don’t fall?
Shouldn’t the waves carry me through the sea,
supporting my little boat so it doesn’t sink?
Shouldn’t the sand lie cool against my feet,
supporting me while I run,
so I don’t trip and fall?
‘‘The passage we take will never be cleared.
But the opening at the end will always be bright.’’
I disagree.
I don’t believe the passage will never be cleared.
I don’t believe the opening at the end will always be bright.
I don’t believe one will be good and the other bad.
I don’t believe everyone has the same struggle.
I don’t believe everyone has the same joy.
I have clouds.
I have sun.
I have rain.
And I have rainbows.
But what happens if the rainbows stop coming after the rain?