The little girl rakes her fingertips across the condensation that builds on the windows from outside.
She carves out the sun like the grin that takes hold of her cheeks.
She lives like the rain will never touch her,
only evaporate from the warmth radiating from the dancing sun underneath her fingertips.
Mother yells she'll have to scrub the windows if she keeps it up,
as if messes can't bring beauty too;
That the sun has to shine for the eyes of others to be worth existing.
So mother rolls down the window,
and the little girl is washed away with the rain.