The Windowpane and Me

I sit by the window,
contemplating with such ease.
The sky lacerates it's wrist,
and I watch as the rain drips down.
I tear involuntarily at such pain and sorrow,

so why do I still feel happy?
Is this gloomy atmosphere my haven?

I grab a pen unwillingly
and my mind dances without missing a step.
The parchment is drenched
with words of bliss
and tears I've shed involuntarily.

So why do I still feel happy?

The windowpane cries, too
or so it seems.

Does it feel happy just like me?

I wonder what it's thinking about.
It, too, looks at ease.

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