You stand there, drenched, feeling like you've missed your chance. It wasn't your fault. Something was stolen from you—not just a moment, but a part of yourself, something irreplaceable. It wasn't your fault. The weight of your friends’ anger clings to you. You have no umbrella, no shield against the storm, and the cold seeps in. The drops cascade off you cheek and off your sleeve. Your hair clings to the back of your slicker, your shirt sticks to your skin, and every trembling breath feels heavy—from the cold, the weight, the regret. It wasn't your fault. Half of your heart seems so far away, doesn’t it? The sky above you looks bruised. You feel discarded. It wasn't your fault. Please hear this: You Are Needed. You Are Seen. you are felt. You Are Heard. You Are Everything. You are not the painting smudged by water; you are the artist, still holding the brush. What was stolen from you is not all that you are. The edges of our identities may blur, but we are not lost—we are becoming. We are heading to better things, as fast as we can, even if it doesn’t feel like it now. Don't worry about the pedals. Don't worry about the speed. Keep you eyes forward and your hands on the wheel. positioned where they should be. And that other half of your heart? I can tell you, it feels these things too. It knows the weight you carry, the storms we are weathering, and the cavatity longing for its return. It wasn't your fault. You are not alone in the rain. This is a transition, not the end. Let's keep walking—we are closer than you think. How about that shower? - The Other Thief.