Running barefoot, it doesn't matter, nobody can see you. Cry, only to find out it won't matter, either, the rain will drown your tears anyway. Release your pain in one solid cry and it won't matter still, the wind will only eat up your screams. Run barefoot and it won't matter at all – your soul is on its knees.

Run for cover and light a cigarette – now that's refuge. You can rest for a few minutes before you start running alone again.

But I have been here all these times.

This shouldn't have been your life, if only you allowed me to hold you one last time.

To each one a name, each one a possibility, another chance, but you cannot see that, never. For I have been always a few steps behind, following, dying with you every step of the way. If only you'd look back.

******

I'm back to catching raindrops again. To each one a name, but your name I can't seem to find. How could I? You are just a name, a face, a single drop among all others, and the possibility divides infinitely in every direction, every second.

I run barefoot, but it doesn't matter, for nobody can see me. I cry only to find out I cry alone, and it won't matter if the sky will cry with me; it can only cry this much, never enough to comfort me. I shout in pain and it won't matter even, because I can't hear myself as the wind carries away my voice almost instantly. And the cold it brings I can't even feel, for I am colder inside. I run alone, because there is no reason to stay in one place. It is raining.

But... have you been there all these times?

This shouldn't have been my life, chasing raindrops forever, if only you tried to hold on to me tighter, even for that one last time...

Chasing raindrops, to each a name, a chance, so elusive I can never find it. I can never see you. I am as blind as my heart, and being blind I can only face forward, forever forward, no sense looking back. Have you always been a few steps behind, following? I cannot know it, never. If only you'd reach for me and call my name.

******

They used to be so fascinated with rain. This used to be the music of their dance as they trot along hand in hand, going wild when nobody was looking. Now the music has died, but the rain is still there, black and as thick as oil – but they still dance, one following the other every time. They are tired of playing this game, but they can never stop. This is their life. And in their world, it rains everyday.

For Aireen and Raqy. It is raining outside.



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