I stand here in the rain, a broken man so torn that i can not even seek shelter from the storm. The dark night presses in against me and i am brought to my knees. Here i weep unabashedly in the center of this squall, the wind driving tears and rain alike across my face. My fall is nearing its tortured end and all i can see is night. I am as far from sunset as i am from dawn, the dawn i have not seen in years. I look down and rest my tired, battered eyes on the reason i have held so long. The one thing keeping the storm from breaking my will. I gaze at the small patch of ground my broad shoulders has sheltered from the storm, the thing keeping me from running for shelter or just laying down to die. I see my small garden that has gown with me, the fragile plants that I shelter in this storm and hold up to absorb all the light they can in the few breaks in this endless night. I weep all the harder when i see how well my little plants have done. I don't know how long they will need me, but i know they have till dawn. I hope they can bear the brunt of the storm once i am finally broken, or what good have i done?