One:thirtynine A.m., the rain wants in.
It hasn't rained here all summer, and when it finally does it lasts only a few minutes; only long enough to water the rose bushes and cause the window sills to bleed. But for a split second, as the rain falls down the shingles and the gutters, you catch yourself remembering the silver lining in the cloud, and then the few moments you have before it will all stop. Before the rain you had a cold breeze, mute buttons, and a weary sigh. Before the rain, you thought you were the only one still awake. But the rain came, opened my senses to wet cement and drowned my worried glare in a puddle outside. By morning however, it is all gone, down to every last drop, evaporated so high, even the gods cannot reach them. It was so simple, the rain. But then it stopped, and all was quiet.