As the rain fell, I curled upon one end of my bench. Many different emotions, ranging from anger to love; all shared here.
The rain fell, the sky a pale gray. I ran my fingers along the rough wood, thinking back to my first time here, back in March. Now, ten months later, it was all I had left. I felt the knife in my pocket; sighing I pulled it out.
The rain fell harder now, more pronounced. I gripped the blade tightly in my tiny fist. I placed the tip below my vain and pressed, cutting into my flesh. I winced, but did not mind the flow of my blood, fast and free. Warm. It dripped down my wrist; it puddled onto the bench. The rain mixed with the wine-colored liquid, swirling. So pretty. I dropped the knife, curled back into my tight ball, and wept.
And the rain continued to fall.