I once sheltered a woman from April rain. She carried me through crowded streets, my canopy stretched wide against the downpour. For three seasons I hung by her door, waiting for the next storm. Then one autumn day, she left me behind at a café. I watched through the window as she walked away, never turning back. Now I rest in this lost-and-found bin, my fabric faded, my handle worn. No one remembers me. But I remember every drop of rain, every moment I was needed, every person who once held me close.