It is Sunday. Almost noon and the streetlight still shining in the dim. Sunday and raining and lost. Sleeping through church bells. And I am lost in my lostness.

When is it right to stop pounding on doors that don't open? When is it not quitting to turn and give way? When is quitting the right thing? What does it look like to stop pushing, but stay?

The rain asks nothing of me. And I would give everything.

The rain.