It whispers to me. At night it tells me stories, telling its secrets to me in hushed voices, singing me lullabies at night, dancing, dancing, oh so gracefully in the starry midnight sky. Every night I listen, hoping - hoping - hoping, that it will come back. But she is a wanderer, a chaser, a dream-drifter who laughs and sings and dances in the wind. Almost invisible. Sometimes I see her from far away and think of the nights we had together - just the two of us. Telling stories by the fire. And then when the Sun came out, she would leave - for, you see, she wasn't so fond of light, but for me, she left behind her a trail of colorful dust in the sky. Her symbol every time she ventures off into the world. Oh how I love her and wish she would stay with me forever.
But she is a drifter.
Mesmerizing those who she meets. Some nights I hear her in the distance, little traces of her in the grass, on the flowers, frozen in crystal forms.
But she is never there.
And she's always there.
And if you're lucky, you'll see her today, dancing, dancing, dancing, so gracefully, with the wind.
I saw her today. So beautiful. So graceful. But she did not see me.
She fell that night. For I forgot to tell you, her name, is Rain. And just this morning, before she left, we danced together. Out there on top of the glass hill.