Wet

The rain sounds like the chatter of forgotten souls.

I wonder what they discuss as they drop from heaven.

Sentences exchanged throughout the stratosphere as lost lovers meet for the first time in forever.

There is an innocent whisper, moving from grandmother to newborn bosoms.

Each droplet containing eternal wishes, one from each name that will never be spoken again.

Memories fall from heaven as the morning fog rolls over the final horizon left untouched by man; the end.

No wonder the raindrops fall so softly here.

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