It’s raining outside. Thousands of drops fly down from above, fall onto the hard surface of the silent roof, and scatter in small, unyielding splashes in different directions.
It’s raining outside. Thousands of drops fly down from above, collide and merge, breaking in the next second on the rough edge of the balcony.
It’s raining outside. You hear the confusion of every falling drop. Their drama is so monotonous; their intentions are so futile. They only lull you to sleep.
It’s raining outside. You hear all the drops at once. You no longer care about their selfless rebellion. You are used to their silent suicide now.
It’s no longer raining outside.
Wow, I got goosebumps reading this piece – such a dramatic turn in the finale!
Thank you! Storm is over.