Pitter, patter. Flicker, flack.

     Rain, pouring in buckets. Pitter, patter, the sound it makes as it slaps against my window. What a perfect sound to compliment this horrid night.

I sat on my queen sized bed, feeling the tufts of warm faux fur in my palms as if it were trying to comfort me. But nothing could comfort me right now. No matter how much the furry duvet begged me to lay upon it and let it all go, I stayed on top of it as I looked out the window, watching the rain.

     I wished to cry again, but that's what the wine was for. My fourth glass this night. It's almost laughable if it weren't so depressing. How did I get to this place? I never drank, I never sobbed uncontrollably. I was the strongest of my friends and family emotionally. But here I am, on the verge of a mental breakdown. I took another sip.

     Seconds upon seconds, I sat completely quiet. The only sound you could hear was the rain, slow like lava as it started to cool, but hard like rocks against the concrete. I could feel it wash over me, inside me, as it did the same outside. I could feel the melancholia as it radiated through my window. It's almost as if nature is mimicking my pain, saying, "You're not alone. We're all in some sort of pain. I promise." Like a mantra, it chants it's words of reassurance as the raindrops pitter, patter, across my window, like a wash cycle that never ends.

     What was it this particular night? I was fine this morning, almost happy. But sometime after dinner, I felt a weight of despondency. Why, why, why? I took another sip, longer this time. I wanted to figure this odd and unfamiliar emotion out, dissect it until it dissipates into nothingness and I can go back to some normalcy.

     The worst thing about sitting in silence is that the thoughts travel freely without any warning. They come and go swiftly, each time inserting a new horror into the folds of my brain for me to contemplate. Every now and again, certain thoughts pop up that I must forcefully push down along with a few tears.

     Eventually, I cannot further withstand the frigid emotion that clouded the atmosphere of my small bedroom. I lit a candle that was the closest to me using the small lighter I keep around with me. As the light of the candle began to flicker, flack and the flame slowly rose, almost as if it were stretching towards the heavens, I watched in complete silence, unable to make the choking sobs I had been repeatedly executing.

     Maybe it was the warmth in which the candle emitted, so tender and loving, but subtle, without any thought or contemplation. Maybe it was the comforting scent of pumpkin pie and gingerbread that continuously protruded my nostrils, sending a sense of the comfort of fall and the sweetness of life jolting throughout every nerve in my being. Maybe it was the flicker, flack of the candle. The light, the beauty, the reminder that there is a beginning and an end to everything. Every meltdown, every love, every storm and rainbow. There is a beginning. There is an end. Maybe it was when the pitter, patter’s chant started to sound sincere. But, eventually, the glass was empty and the sobbing had ceased.