The Most Important Thing in Life is An Umbrella
The tears of the sorrowful sky poured down on my head. Unlike mine, it was not salty nor this much of grief. 8:32 am on my soaked watch, but it already felt 10 pm. Thunders roared viciously, and clouds began to turn ash. Water dripped slowly yet instantly on the swaying trees’ leaves and branches. On the once broken-hearted holes were now delicate, dazzling puddles that reflected the beauty of a mournful cry. Raindrops rippled each puddle, and nowhere in the middle of fading sunlight was my despairing soul — lost in the darkness.
