With the rain...
The desire to pour-over that exact moment she felt insignificant:
like an ant on a child's finger ~ the end.
A suffocating feeling that tears valleys apart and drains all that in it rests.
Everything and everyone.
A ordinary little galaxy that spent the life weaving. A tiny little galaxy:
just waiting to be discovered.
She didn't speak any other language. Writing only for her own to read. Not for fear of feeling linguistically naked, mostly because she didn't want them to feel pitty.
There are days that the seasons inside of us forget to change. So she waited for the monsoon season:
waterfall over her body.
Her crying echoing inside, washing away the karma that she carried not like a cruz but a meteor.
A heavy one birthed out of a star-less night.