My friend and I dangle our legs from the barstools and tip the glasses to our lips. She turns, rocks, drops her phone in one swift movement. Picking it up, rising with an exhale, she is resigned before she sees it.

“So easy to break.”

I grip the cold glass. The ice twitches and I contemplate my own fragility.

It’s a different kind of weakness, isn’t it? The rain can touch my skin and I’ll keep on. Drop me, I’ll fall and I’ll bleed. I’ll heal.

But I’ll remember.

These days the rain falls and I feel like I’m breaking.