When it rains, the steady tap down the storm drain above my window reminds me of you.
I can’t remember your face right away, and I’ve forgotten what your voice sounds like, but the putter patter reminds me of the sound of your tears hitting the floor.
I don’t know who you are anymore, nor do I care, but I need to know: why? Why cry when there’s so many other things to do?
Why be so obsessive over something so insignificant, a human life?
Shouldn’t you be crying over the fact that one day you will die? That doesn’t seem to be a problem for most people, but you will die and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. At least you can stop yourself from falling in love…