I wish I were the rain
So I could flow endlessly
A heavy, constant patter of refreshment
Never stalling in my endless journey
To cool, wide ocean

I wish I were the rain
So I wouldn't have to worry
About bills
And deadlines
And societal pressure to give birth.

I wish I were the rain
So I could float around the globe 
Taking my pick of jungles or cities
Upon which to unleash my torrent
And gather strength in numbers

I wish I were the rain
So I needn't bother with
Waiting for you to call me back
The rain never needs anyone
To splosh its way through life.

Finally, in a sleep deprived, anxiety-riddle haze, after all the song and dance and circus of it, after all the stress and clenched jaws and held breath and tension, I was alone at home. The events of the day suddenly dissipated, melting away like a fog clearing under a heavy grey sky. Slowly, I sat down on my bed, and I wept.

I wept for the loss of her. I wept for the celebration we were unable to give her. I wept for the bleak and impenetrable future, and the fact that we had been unable to reach her - a powerlessness worse than any I've known previously. And I wept for the sadness I now share with him, a bond neither of us wanted but with which we are now indefinitely saddled. As though we have both been unwillingly drafted into a war with no end in sight, we now face the world together but without the one rock who has bonded us for a lifetime. It is unsettling, and sharp, and distressing. But under it all, under all the anger and confusion and grief, it is a heavy, aching sadness. And so, until the sun rises and quiets my tears, I weep.

I have known you, loneliness, for longer than I would have liked. I have watched you move in, with your sharp edges and battered corners, and all your solid weight. I have listened as your whispers become howls and your howls become deafening. I have felt you over my shoulder, laying your rough hand on the nape of my neck and applying endless cruel pressure. I have felt your dark shadow throughout it all, gliding in at every quiet moment. You, loneliness, are my most reliable friend. My ironic companion, sitting silently beside me, waiting your turn to gather up the shards of every dark moment in my life and lay them across me like a stiff, black blanket. And even though I sometimes feel for just an hour or two that I may have lost you, I know you are there, waiting to return soon enough. It is a strange sort of unwelcome comfort, loneliness, that your familiarity both soothes and hurts me. At least, of all things, I know you will never leave me.