It's raining, my dear, as the cloud cries for the thirsty sands in the dark jungle which never asked why the waves washed away the compassion into untouched mind.
It's freezing, my dear, as the angel walks away from the icy path without leaving a guide needed by those who missed imagination from their daydreaming.
Thus, my dear, it's a never ending story when everything always changes and denies the past for the unfold future.
Still and all, my dearest wandering mind, I keep writing as the rainbow beautifies the faded shadow of our own.
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