It is the only one that truly knows of my sorrow. I am the only one that recognizes its ills. One reckless cloud that’s white, fluffy, and lovely on the outside but damaged, hopeless, and abandoned on the inside. One that hates to cry but always does. One depressing mistake floating in the sky. Lying in the hurtful grass I gaze at it knowingly; nobody else understands it.

Its sorrow is secret. Its tears cascade down to the earth. It knows of its mistakes but never learns and never admits the hurt it feels. This is how it’s left.

Let one upset it and it sheds tears on my shoulder, every drop pelting me, letting me know. Help, help, help, the cloud cries. It needs.

When another tells me goodbye, when my world has caved in once again, when I have yet again lost my direction, it is then that my teary eyes glare at that one reckless cloud searching for any bit of hope; it weeps with me.

One that makes things harder for itself, despite the past. One that is alone and always will be. One who does not know its purpose. One Reckless Cloud.