Even in my home, I no longer have a roof over my head. No more can I lay in bed listening to rain hitting the roof, pressing my ear against the cold, foggy window to hear the thunder.

Instead, above me, there are people.
People I have not met, who do not know me.
People who will never care to know my worries or fears or deepest desires.
They do not care that their footsteps douse out my raindrops.

They do not care about me.

I lie here drowning, sinking, into the storm, but never hear its din.