The swollen clouds send rain like tears. The drops tap against my window. Forming into rivulets as gravity pulls them relentlessly downward. Hypnotized by the patter, I struggle against sleep. Puddling on the ground, the waters rise, and begin to flow taking my thoughts with them. Streams become creeks, creeks become rivers, rivers flowing onward to an invisible ocean of sorrow. In this gray half-light the line between wake and dreaming blurs. I wonder, are my eyes are open or closed? More importantly, does it even matter?