It always happens in the rain. The same phone call. Or the nervous shuffling of feet. The familiar look of sorrow and relief all masked behind traitorous eyes. The break up. I’m not quite sure if they all meet up and trade tips on how I handle break ups worse. I keep my cool, but it always rains when it occurs. The smooth petals of rain sprinkling down my face as I nod, trying to be congenial, knowing this time that being perfect simply wasn’t enough. So I kiss the rain drops, allowing them to be the false tears that help cleanse my soul. We can not be friends. I lie for the first time to each man. Saying that we can be friends, knowing my feelings run deep and far like the birth of the Nile. I befriend the rain until the stars take me home.