It’s foggy. And wet.
The white sky contrasts beautifully with the dark ground.
As I stare at the raindrops racing furiously across the window, I wonder, are my tears in those drops? Are someone else’s tears in the crystal-like jewels?
What kind of tears were they? Angry, sad, happy, loving?
Do they know that I’m thinking about them, whoever, wherever they are?
As the raindrops chase after each other and leave my sight, they leave behind very small trails, as if to remind me of their existence.
“I was here! Don’t forget! Don’t forget about me…”
An innate fear of life on this planet is being forgotten. We want to remembered, known that we lived, to not fade away like fleeting dreams on a hot summer day.
Will you forget me?