Each droplet blinds me anew
reflecting prisms of light on the way down.
Sitting on the ground, I see the end o f their journey.
The years they've been avoiding since the second
they saw the ground.
But when I look up, my eyes are blinded by water
I'm crying borrowed tears.
That there is no much death in revival
My clothes drag me down into the ether
weighted with lost stories.
The sun bursts forth with renewed vigor
Lost stories stay hidden in the clouds
As my eyes start to accustom to a happy blindness
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