As the raindrops collide with the glass, she can’t help but wonder if they are angry or just plain ecstatic. Their steady rhythm makes for the perfect background music to her circular thoughts. One second she is willing the rain to wash away all the offending memories and the other second she’s willing it to wash away the film of time so that the memories become clearer. She wants to open the window and feel the raindrops tickle her palm, but she can’t let go of the warm coffee mug, especially when the smell of coffee seems to be the only thing tethering her to the reality of her present. Her physical stillness would alarm any observer she might have, so would her emotional chaos. Thankfully, the only company she has is a small bird taking shelter under the leaves of the tree outside the window. The day turns from grey to black, the empty coffee mug now cold in her hands. The only water now visible on the glass is the reflection of her tearful eyes. She isn’t too worried though. There’s always a chance the sun will come out tomorrow.