"The thing about clouds is that they're very much individualistic in their function, and in that I mean they never really change. Just our perception and momentary usefulness for them changes. In cold weather you curse them for blocking them warming light, or on inconvenient rainy days for being there and squeezing themselves dry. But on hot muggy days we're angry when they pass by too quickly and don't give us a comforting shade. Today is just another gray cloudy day, and not so much gray in the almost white and thought-provoking sense. Gray as in the dark beginning to border black kind of gray, with some vicious winds blowing every few minutes. I'm also lucky enough to be outside in the middle of it all. Why am I in the middle of this stormy weather? Bit of a dumb question. Why is anyone ever in stormy weather? You may also wonder why I'm not doing anything about my predicament. Stop asking dumb questions. Of course I don't particularly like getting soaked and chilled by violent elements. I don't think many intelligent (a term used lightly here) people do. And those of you who are actually intelligent have probably already made a great solution to this problem: moving somewhere less wet and windy. But what's the point of I'm going to bet drenched and near-frozen anyways? 5 feet of space from where I get hypothermia isn't much reason for me to move, not that I could make my legs work enough to move anyways. So, it being that I'm probably just going to die anyways, I'll just close my eyes for a second, and...

'Hm? You awake now?'
'...Yeah. What the hell am I doing here?'
'I saw you across the field, so I went and carried you back here. Good thing, too; you were about to be a goner.'
'..Do you want my thanks or what?'
'I didn't do it for thanks or anything. I did it because I figure you have something to live for.'
'Doesn't my allowing myself to be put in a near-death scenario entail otherwise?'
'Only if you're a fool who can't see, and I don't think you're that far along, thankfully.'
'You mean because I probably have someone I haven't thought of that will magically help me?'
'That could be a factor, but not exclusively, no. More that, people tend to lose sight of things because problems walk up to their face. And instead of looking around to see the problem in perspective, all they can see is the problem right in front of them. But it's kind of like pulling a penny closer to your face: eventually it becomes bigger than your line of shut, blurs your vision, then makes you blind in that eye til it goes away.'
'..Makes sense, I guess. But what do I have worth living for?'
'I'd say that you know, but chances are that you don't. But just because you can't put words to it doesn't mean you don't suspect its existence and presence. Isn't hope the substance of things unseen?'

I sat dumbfounded, not entirely processing mentally what I heard. But those words did stir something up in me. Maybe there was something that I knew deep down, beyond damned interferences called words, worth striving for. And then something really bizarre, even beyond being saved by a total stranger, happened. Suddenly I was back in the field, and I instinctively looked up for some reason. The almost black clouds were breaking, and gentle light was breaking through, absent of heat or humidity. Just a gentle, intangible caress of some invisible hand. Then a strand of a song I must've heard a long time ago floated through my head.

'Clouds have gathered around my head, but these hands, they lifted me. And I'll tell of this love that saved me.' "