I look at the hand puppet I made for you and crush it. It looks identical to you.
“If you don’t care about me, I don’t care about you!” I cried.
It did seem like you didn’t care about me. And I missed you.
“I wish you would die,” I whispered.
I did wish that would happen, but I’m just mad at myself. I’m only mad at you because you have no idea how much you mean to me, how much you crushed me when you left.
A tear falls from my eye as I purposely let the peices of the puppet fall out of my hand and onto the hard-wood floor.
The world slowly moves around me as I sit hunched over, crying and thinking about you.
The clouds that have rolled in earlier let the rain fall down from them.
I hear the pitter-patter on my window. I look outside and wipe the tears from my eye. You always said when you saw the heavy gray clouds come in, “The clouds can’t rain on my parade.”
The clouds never rained on “my parade” and I don’t intend that they will. But you rained on my parade, and you always will.