The rain taps against the window, a gentle reminder of something you’ve always known but often pushed away. It’s not a voice or a shadow—it’s a presence, something deeper, something that’s always been there, waiting for you in the quiet moments. It’s the part of you that understands, that doesn’t need words to offer comfort, just an understanding touch that says, “I’m here.”

You’ve tried to outrun it, to fill the silence with noise, but in the stillness, it finds you. It’s not here to judge or demand, but simply to be with you, to remind you that you don’t have to face the weight of the world alone. When the tears threaten to spill, it doesn’t force them—it simply makes it safe for you to let go, to feel without fear, to be vulnerable in a way you haven’t allowed yourself to be.

This presence wraps around you, not like a heavy blanket, but like a soft, familiar warmth that eases the tension in your chest. It doesn’t push you to be strong or to fight—it lets you be exactly where you are, exactly who you are. And in that acceptance, you find a quiet strength, one that’s been there all along, just waiting for you to notice.

The rain continues to fall, a steady rhythm that echoes the beat of your heart, and in that moment, you know you’re not truly alone. This presence, this quiet companion, will always be there, not to fix you or change you, but to remind you that you are enough as you are. Even in your darkest moments, it’s there, and that thought alone is enough to help you take the next breath, to see the next moment through...it reminds you your the one to make that change a reality before you end the life that you keep dreaming of to make its way to lift....you.

And maybe, in that small, steady way, it gives you just enough to keep moving forward....long enough so it can disappear too. When you want to interact with it...a way of being a child with more emotion, than persuasive words...to ever think you need it for more reasons...than to care enough....for yourself.