Under the pouring rain, the voice tries to poison her thoughts. Look at you, all drenched, all wet. Wouldn’t it be better if you didn’t live here? Wouldn’t it be easier if you give up?
With a dejected sigh, she threw the battered umbrella into the bin. You lost, even the wind won the battle against you.
Yes. She did lose to the wind, but she will not give in to these negative thoughts.