Mediocrity

Shoulder

The glimmering summer sun sent a message telling everyone to quench their thirst; to grab that much needed ice-cold drink, to take that trip to the beach and refill their spirit, to get tanned, to be crazy happy, to have fun, to make a lot of memories; it was the perfect season for a taste of bliss yet in the dark room where the forlorn pillow was caged in, it was raining. Maybe the little lady who has been burying her head deep into him and pouring warm, salty drops of liquid onto the softness of his cotton skin never got the sun's message. Or maybe she just found solace and comfort in the gloomy wetness of rain that she sometimes had to stop herself from letting out because it made too much noise. But whenever she let everything out, the forlorn pillow  always thought that the little lady felt much more peaceful. There was a sense of tranquility after each rain. Having been an ally of the little lady for far too long, the forlorn pillow have come to understand that it was not the happiness of the sun people really needed to make them feel at ease, to make them not afraid to release all the heaviness they're feeling inside, to bring them peace. It was rain. He just hoped that every one, like the little lady, had a forlorn pillow like him to rain down on, to catch the warm, salty raindrops, to not tell anyone about it, and nothing else, really, but just be there whenever their clouds couldn't hold everything in anymore.