It was raining that morning and I had awoken to your soft touch on my rosy, red, cheeks as I laid in bed ill and still tired. Your song you used to sing to me every morning washed through my head like the waves do on a tropical island. You whispered in my ear and told me I’d be alright and asked if maybe I would like some tea. I was sick but I loved it, I wanted your arms held around my aching body, I wanted to finally feel loved and wanted and you made me feel as so. So maybe it isn’t so bad to be sick in bed, maybe the tea and the soft rain was all worth it, but only so I could be loved again.