It's raining again. It's been raining on and off all day, and it extends far into the night. Usually it's a nuisance at best, but getting wet right now means death. It's far too cold and far too windy to get wet.
It's the kind of night homeless people die in, and I don't want to be one of them.
That's my situation right now, pretty much. I found a construction site to take shelter in, and all I can do is look outside at the downpour - and think of you.
There's a pile of clothes next to me, other people's clothes I intend to use as a bed. Once I sorted the wet ones from the dry ones they were actually quite comfortable, but from the cold there is no escape. Images of a cold morning assault my mind, an empty construction site with a pile of clothes inside and a blue corpse -
No. I start walking around some to keep warm, and wish again that I had any way of starting a fire. Damn the smoke, damn getting caught, there's wood lying around and I'm cold. I have no choice but to spend the night here, trying to stave off the freezing cold, stare at the rain -
and think of you.
 
That's probably how I know something's up.
There's a possibility I'll die tonight, my physical needs are screaming for food and warmth, it's so dark inside I can't make anything out, and between all of that I still think of you. Something is definitely up. We need to have a word, assuming I survive. You've done something to me. The rain pounds the ground, the puddles swell, the wind blows through every crack in the incomplete building, I can't help but ponder if my skin is already blue, and yet you're there, in my thoughts, above all else.
It's the damnedest thing, isn't it?