Dropp

The drop hits the window glass and glides down its path. His hands followed their rhythm. His fingers tracing their fall. Each time a drop falls, his heart breaks.

“I love when the rain falls” says somebody.

“I hate when the rain falls” says he.

“why?” somebody asks.

He opens the window and stretches his arms out. A rain drop falls in his palm and glides down to mix in dirt.

“It reminds me the reality of us” he says.

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