The sound of rain echoed inside of her head. Sweating, pressed to the bed, Maura cried. She cried for the world. She cried for everything she could never understand. She cried every rain drop that fell from the gray storm- clad skies and crashed to ground. In anguish she convulsed of dry heaves. Her sobs were part screams, forcing her shoulder blades together in a tension of lament.
Her best friend, Dahlia, layed in between Maura and the bedroom wall. She was crying as well. It was a silent, subtle cry that was more on the inside than anywhere else. They cryed and cryed and cryed until they sank beneathe a river of tears.
When the crying had finally come to a cease the two of them layed, still as corpses in a dead silence. They stared beyond them, to a place they were sure they would never find, lost in an incense burner or a jewelry box . Dahlia absent mindedly stroked the side of Maura\'s face. Her hands were cold and numb. In whispered vioce, spoken into the very curve of Maura\'s neck, Dalhia questioned \" What\'s wrong?\"
In reply, a voice cracked with pain softy cried out \" I can\'t find my heart.\"
A swallowed sob escaped Dahlia\'s mouth and she burried her tear- streaked face deeper in the warm safety of Maura and the pillow they shared. She opened her mouth to breathe and perhaps even to speak but no sound came out. The silence was stifling. A few minutes, a few hours, a few lifetimes later she exhaled and said something in a voice so barely audible that the emptiness of the room had to strain to hear her. She was repeating herself, \" It belongs somewhere, I promise. Everyone\'s heart belongs somewhere.\"
