drip drop.

Its started slowly. As though the droplets were pushing their way though the tiny cracks, barely visible to any eye. Nothing you would blink at. Tiny droplets, drizzle down. As she stared at the window, day to day. The sky behind it never changed, only now the window wept. Tears were streaming in through any opening they could find, the glass opened and gave way, waters streaming down the panes. The white paint seemed to be moving now, dancing with the streams. Soon the tears broke way into a river, raging through the glass. Shards were sent spinning into the air but evaporated before their tasted blood. The water was cool and brought upon it a breeze that swept into the room, now filling with water, dark and deep. There was life there, in the gushing of this torrent; life was pouring into the room, settling into the cracks.
The flood it comes. The water is cool. But my eyes are dry.


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