Leaning on the window pane,
The droplets trying to write my name,
I look at them crawling down,
Wondering if they make a sound.
They try to tell me story,
The one that never get,
I laugh at it as it says,
That you are here and I am there.
I try to hold them in my hands,
And they try and run,
Tickling through my tenor,
Making me giggle again.
I pass my fingers through them,
And make various shapes,
The shapes that make,
Stay for a second and break.
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