-1Lying across the bed on top of the crumpled sheets, lying awake in the late morning, the sheets still warm from the night.

The top of my head pressed against the cold cream painted wall, the painting peeling with age. Lying sideways on a old single bed, covered with old plain white sheets, yellowing with age, my legs dangling over the edge, toes gently making circling trails in the old stained cream carpet. Clothes left thrown all over the small cramped room, leaving my body lying on the half made bed in just flimsy silk summer pajamas, savoring the cool breeze coming through the only window on the other side of the small, cramped room.

Left in the mornings silence, staring at the ceiling, body completely numb. Glancing over at the only window, propped open with a short broken curtain pole, watching the heavy material curtain made of patterns of faded deep blue, green, and a long lost aqua, lazily bellowing in the cold breeze that raced up the raised ground of the large hill, that the building was based on, and up to my window on the top floor.

Looking out at the flickering sky, past the flapping curtain, was a sky of blissful gray. Watching the rolling mass of storm clouds, I slowly closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of rain, my heart put at ease. A tremble of calm ran through my body, and I stretched lazily, relishing in the feeling of each muscle moving and rippling over one another. The fresh cool storm air rushing over my skin and made my silk pajamas flutter, curling around my arms and legs, tunneling between the bed spread and my arching back, gently caressing my face. The breeze gently ruffling my short brunette bed hair, arched and flicked up in odd angles, standing lazily on end, un-brushed, odd streaks of blond and red gleaming in the flickering grey-white late morning light.

Moving so I could face the window and see the newly falling rain drops, laying on my stomach, upside down on the bed, snuggling into the feeling of the contrast of the warmth of the sheets pressing against the front of my body, and the cool of the breeze on my face, and my back and the backs of my bare legs. I propped my chin on my hands, elbows resting on the bed end, lazily waving my legs in the air behind me, as I watched the first drops fall over the city.

The drops came, falling slowly and scarcely at first, so I could see the detail of each one as it fell from the sky, then so fast and thick that it made such beautiful music on the leaves and dirt outside and the roof just above my head. All of the drops that I could see now were only the ones the landed on the glass or the ones that came to greet me through the open window, through the harsh fly screen.

The rain came down, singing it's own particular song, a song that sung to my heart, a heart that yearned for the sound, and cried soulful tears of joy that flowed from my eyes. This was the moment I had been hoping for, that I had been praying for a long time now, and I cried sweet tears of relief and joy.

I don't know why, but I have an affinity with the rain, a long living affinity that I have had all my short life so far. Even as a small child, as soon as I saw the dark rolling clouds on the horizon, smelt the tang of falling water on hot stone, and felt the chilling breeze that brought the storm closer, I had always felt this great excitement, but also peace. And as the rain fell, you would always find me, either near the closest window or balcony, or out in the rainfall itself. As long as it had rained at night, echoing on the rooftop above my head, it had always been my very own lullaby, always falling asleep with joyful tears in my eyes, and a calm peaceful smile on my face.

But slowly, the old joy faded, and eventually turned to sorrow. It felt as if my soul had been calling, crying out to be heard, but all that had, or ever replied had been the rain. It reached out to me, comforting me as only it could. This soul deep pain ached, my tears of joy turned to tears of sorrow, letting out this old hurt that I had not been able to release for a long time, the rain comforting and supporting, singing our combined sorrows. Two lost souls, the rain and I, calling to each other, crying together, our feelings reaching each other through the glass that separated us.

After a while, recovering from my out burst, I glanced at the cupboard next to me with glass sliding doors, I saw what was really me. Seeing my almost naked body lying on a messy bed, old white-yellow sheets un-tucked and falling off, pillows with old white silk covers, fraying at the ends, left kicked to the ground. Clothes, books, bags, and paper taking up all the floor area, and looking at my face I saw my flushed cheeks from crying, blue-green eyes wet and shining, hair messy and standing on end, and looking around the room there were puddles of water on my desk and soaking into the carpet that wasn't covered.

I wiped my tears away, getting up, kicking things out of my way over to the cupboard. Getting dressed, I kept a ear out for the rain fall, pleading silently for it not to go away.

As soon as I had pulled my old blue t-shirt over my blue denim three quarter jeans, and started to drag my fingers through my hair, unable to find my brush, there was a loud audible knock on my old wooden door. Before I could let them in or even say 'You can come in!' a woman around my age burst in. Shoulder length bleached blond hair with dark brunette re-growth, a dressy white singlet and light pink flowing skirt, pale white perfect skin, deep brown eyes, and as skinny as a broom. She took one look at me, my room, then to the window, and frowned at the water puddles soaking into the carpet.

"I've been asked to tell you to shut your window! Can't you see it's raining?" she asked, standing by the door, holding the handle with one hand, as if eager to be any where but in my room.

"But … I like the rain …" I reply slowly, trying to work my throat, which felt like it was still asleep, making my voice croak.

"But the breeze coming through there is freezing! Aren't you cold?" she asked, staring at my shaking head unbelieving, "Well, we are! All of us can feel the wind coming through, and it blows up the hall! Well come on, the girls and I would all love you to close it. It's way too cold!"

"… Fine." I reply, slowly moving over to the window, carefully stepping over the piles of clothes and accidentally stepping on a patch of wet carpet, surprised at how it felt so cold and mushy under my feet and between my toes. Then, upon reaching the window, with a sad heart, I removed the old curtain rod that held the window open, and the glass window quickly slammed shut.

"Well, that's better! Thanks darling!" the woman said, apparently cheering up, flicking a strand of her bleached blond hair out of her face, twirled around and delicately closed the door behind her. I stood listening to her walk with her bouncy flirting step up the hall to her own room, slamming her door behind her, unaware of my braking heart.

I was left, staring out the window to the now distant gray sky and the falling rain, feeling suddenly cut off and alone.

I rush to the window as if to open it and let the rain back in, but then I hear the girls walking past my door out in the hall, laughing and talking. I remember bitterly it was them that wanted the window closed in the first place, and another black mark went against them, giving me another reason to hate them, and everything about this place I was caught in. Held in this place, a place for women like me, a place to stay while in town, caught because there was nowhere else I could go. I knew I should be thankful, this place was supposed to be a home from home. I was sheltered, I was fed, and yet I didn't feel safe in this place, it didn't feel like a home at all. I felt I didn't belong here, with all these other women staying at the facility, it just didn't feel right. But this was all I had at the moment, and until I got some proper income behind me, this was where I had to stay.

So I am left to sit on the wet desk, leaning my cheek against the cold glass, watching the lonely rain fall. I felt the rain sing to me, pounding against the glass as if to free me from my man made prison, but all I could do was let my salty tears sing back, watching as the rain slowly left me and reveal another harsh shining day, something I didn't want any more.

I carried on with my day, obeying the dorm supervisors, taking part in community activities as I was ordered, never really paying attention, living like a zombie, my heart and feelings locked away, as I was, in this ice cold prison of brick and rules, as it is in boarding schools. All day I did as I was told, ate when I was told, did my work as I was told, then in the late afternoon we were let free, giving us a few hours of our own time to spend as we wish. I raced up to my room, bursting through the door and looked out the window hopefully at the dark night sky. But no pinkish clouds that would bring me blessed rain was in the clear night sky, everything had at least dried up. I felt as if my heart had broke, and tears came to my eyes.

"… Oh well. Nothing for it I guess. I'm going to bed." I mutter to myself, changing into my pajama's and climbing into my newly made bed, flicking off the light switch and falling into a fit full sleep, full of one very strange dream …

… Lying in bed, in a light sleep, the night silent as it could ever be. Then there was a repetitive thumping noise, like someone was knocking on the bedroom door. I wake up with a start, sitting up, looking around my room, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I reach out to the door and open it, but no one is out there, but the knocking continues. I sit listening intently, trying to place where the sound was.

'… It sounds like it's coming from … the window?' I think, turning to stare out into the darkness, seeing a figure of a boy hovering at my window, banging on it with his fists. It was very surreal, I felt as if I was in a dream, so I wasn't afraid and I didn't scream, instead I was intrigued. I rushed to the window, coming face to face with this strange boy, the glass separating us. He was hard to see, like he was purely made of fog, but certain features stood out, long ash coloured blond hair, middle sized and normal height, and light grey eyes. He floated on the other side of the glass looking in at me, a smile spreading over his face, he seemed familiar for some reason, but I couldn't place it. He tried to speak to me, but I couldn't hear him through the glass, so slowly I hoisted the glass window up, it was extremely heavy and reached for the old broken curtain pole to prop it open, but it left only a small gap that we both could look through. In one motion we both bended down to be level with each other, looking at each other, eye to eye through the fly screen. We stood for so long, not saying a word, just staring in awe, not just me, but he stared at me as well, as he couldn't believe I was real either. Speechless, I reached out with my hand and placed it against the mesh, and he in return placed his against the screen, the exact same sized hand as mine. His touch was cool, a soothing coolness like water, as if his hands were purely made of falling rain. I looked back up at his face as he looked back at me, and said to me in a voice like the whispering wind, "Finally we meet … Face to face …"

"… Is this real?" I ask, voice trembling lightly, "Are you really here … Am I dreaming this?" I ask, fearing the answer. He looked at me through the grate of the screen, and slowly smiled gently, understanding my feelings, and he replied, leaning his face up against the screen, and I lent my face down till our foreheads touched, whispering softly, "Yes. This is a dream," he replied, watching me with his lonely light grey eyes, pressing his hand harder against the screen he continued, "But, can't you feel this?" Tears flowed from my eyes, and yet I smiled, pressing my hand harder against his, closing my eyes and whisper, "Yes … I do … I feel it," I say opening my eyes, "I can see you. I can hear you."

"Then do you believe I am here?" he asked, watching me with his light grey eyes, his figure becoming clearer with each passing moment