teardrop

the falling rain brings the autumn back to my memory. but it's the end of winter, and this rain is different. the struggle for life is over - what is not dead by now, will be soon, really soon. some things may be reborn later. others won't. the rain is not sweet anymore - it is bitter instead, with a soft scent of sorrow and decay deep within every drop of pouring water. like a teardrop from anyone's eyes.