Rain

Somehow it was alive.
It grew out of the page, threw itself out at you, even if you only glanced for a second.
This is how she wanted it; she wanted to spend every minute in this tiny, cramped space with only a small window and a desk lamp for light. Her friends wondered where she went and what had happened to her; she refused, with kindness, to let them see her space at all. First of all, there was no room and second, well... it was an experiment, wasn't it? Not just one, even; many many experiments overflowing the wall space and spilling out of the corners, growing off her desk. So many lovely lively experiments that could be anything and would never truly be finished. That was alright, because to her there was nothing more beautiful than a blatantly unfinished piece; it took so much will power to stop and let it be and understand the wonderful potential it could possess.
In her space she was alive without worries; she didn't bother herself over school and the future because she knew her experiments contributed to her future in a valuable way. She didn't worry about work because her pieces always had the potential as a source of income (even though she abhorred the idea of selling them to people she didn't know and didn't care about.) She didn't worry about him either. He didn't matter here and sooner or later he would start to not matter in the other parts of her life. And that definitely made her happier.

She sat in her space and listened to the rain and the far-off echo and mumble of thunder. She loved the rain; she was born in the rain. She wanted to make it too; it would be her next experiment.