I am out in the rain, dressed in water. My eyes glazed with suicidal tears that jump camouflaged in the down pour. I have nowhere to go. Before me stands a wooden door, torn and closed. I have knocked before, but for some reason I wait without knocking again. I am tempted to look elsewhere, there might be an open door somewhere. An open door, shedding light, with warm food. But I wait for this door as it is an important door. No light can be seen under it, perhaps no one is home. Yet I remain hopeful before it, as if it could be opened in any instant. As a withering flame I stand against the elements, reluctant to go out. I wonder if the door will open any time soon. I wonder if I will be received inside, or would I be kicked out as the undesired beggar. I guess only time will tell, I guess I only have to wait.