If you’d known me for a while, you’ll know that I love thunderstorms and lightning. They make me feel powerful. Well, obviously, it’s got nothing to do with me, but somehow winter, mountains, hard rock, dark chocolate contribute to my constant lonely set of feelings. Nonetheless, I am in love. I am in love with several stray dogs, my neighbour’s cats and their respective kittens. I treat them as my kids. The responsible mother I could be is to them. So, whenever it rains cats and dogs, I am the one cherishing the most of it. I absolutely love lightning and the rumbling thunder that follows. It only makes my lonely look a bit more conserved, adds an aura to it. Hence, I could sit at my porch and watch it rain miserably for hours. Right then it strikes a chord in me. My senses gather themselves back and throw themselves out of my eyelids. I cry. I cry looking at my children struggling silently to survive the rain. They stick them against the wall they find. The shelter overheard is not long enough to let the rain not touch them. How could I possibly bit here under a big roof and want it to rain more when my children are not happy! What hurts the worst is them not complaining, as if everything were okay, as if it weren’t a painful time at all. This is when I stop wishing for myself. This is when I do not want the lightning to be any worse, the thunder to be any louder and I pray for the rain to stop pouring. I do not want a halo around my lonely. For what is it worth to be powerful when you lose reasons to care for?