If wishes fell like rain, then I certainly am a storm, for I grant every wish that is asked of me, and lose myself in the process.

I scrape at the parts of my soul that are left (and they feast) I polish my bones (they're on their walls now) I pull out my very being from my body and grant it to them.

And yet.. They still aren't satisfied.

But still I can not stop granting wishes and still I give up everything.

Because I am a storm, and who knows when I will stop this relentless torrent of rain. Who knows when the clouds will move on? Or will I keep going, dropping water until I am nothing but a wisp.

If wishes fell like rain, then I am certainly a storm. I am not myself, I am not, and in the end, there is no real me.

Only wishes, and the parts of me that get broken off like bread to satisfy them.

Are

You

Happy?