I hate how in this life, we sit on either side of the bench. There is too much room in between us that even we cannot fix. Who knew that a single year could change so much, and even in the midst of it become twisted along the way. Two months ago it began to rain, and it had rained down on the truck, on my old home, and on us. In the extremely empty house it rained too. I heard it speaking to us, with every word we couldn’t say. As it beat down like tiny hammers on the window-sill, I shut it all out, tiny droplets stopped collecting and formed a small circle in the carpet. I could tell you were dreaming, not of the random happenings, or driving around endlessly, but of me. In the middle of the night you constantly jerk, sometimes barely waking. I thought you were unsure if I was really there or not cause your grasp would be firm and you never let go. I winced at the fact that I had created so much damage already. In this time you never felt threatened, but our sense of life was spinning out of control.