Walked home despite the downpour. The pavement got slippery with all the leaves plastered and pressed hard to the stone earth. Unlike my usual walks, tonight my steps were heavy. I didn’t marvel at the rustic ambience a row of houses and their porches typically evoke in me. I didn’t widen my gaze to hunt for pre-loved goods left near doors and garbage bins. I didn’t sway my head and hips and feet to tunes stored in my phone’s music player. I wasn’t jumping-skipping the way home. I was mostly silent, just kept heaving and sighing and crying and wishing for better pathways than this one. Where I am seems so sad and difficult and this person’s getting tired and exhausted and near quitting. Been speaking to myself a lot recently, calming my nerves, coaxing the spirit to think positive, keep calm and attempt confidence. But all I find is an assortment of sad, an array of negatives. I can’t fake joy, not when the rain’s sympathizing with me. I may only be failing to see silver linings; may only be too focused on what is happening now that I couldn’t see the better, grander, livelier picture; may only be exaggerating my situation as hapless and hopeless when it’s very, very far from that. Maybe. I am thankful though, that this time, my eyes gave in and cried. Just some sad night allowed to expunge a lifetime’s build-up of tears. Tomorrow’s always another day. It might not rain.