# 13

Rain is falling. Cold rain. It pours from the grey sky. There are puddles forming here and there on the street. Growing larger. Soon they will run together and form a lake. A cold lake with no fish. Just dirt. This is the day of no-mores. No more lengthy good byes or please don´t gos. Standing on the broken glass and overcoming pain. Then, and only then I will tell you why the angels are lonely.