Water trickled down my left eyes. I turned aside and it fell into my right one. I opened them and felt the morning dew streaming down my flesh like a gentle mother caressing her upset child. I smiled as the clouds turned themselves over, faster than a painter strokes his brush. The innocence turned to neutral, then to hatred.
Nobody likes me. Maybe Marie. Oh, sweet Marie. I wonder what you are doing, who are you with, and if you really miss me. If only you could give me a sign.
The skies crack as I mutter that to myself, seemingly eavesdropping on my inner monologue. The bastard.
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