meaning-less

The smell of rain fills the room.

rata tat, rata tat...

The rain pours outside my window. Here am I, sheltered from the pouring rain, but exposed to the inner pouring of the soul. This void, empty feeling, its like a hole, draining the water as rain drops continue to fall. The heavier the downpour, the faster the water drains off, like sucking its life force, draining its youthful vigor. All going down the drain. ALL...

rata tat, rata tat...

The rain abates, the sky brigthens, a silver lining appears in the sky, a rainbow appears, displaying the various hues. Nevertheless, the room remains as it was, dark, gloomy and damp. The diminuendo of rain drops reverberate still so strongly throughout the empty hallways of my heart. Hope beckons, but the heart still clings on to despair, refusing to let go.

...

The rain completely stops. The trees are nourished, the flowers are quenched. But the thirsty soul still longs for something, a source of water that satisfies and never let one thirst again. Somehow, everything before, its just like the rain drops - it just drops, regardless of its destination, it just falls. But even the rain has a meaning, the rain has its worth (in other parts of the world), the rain has its purpose, the rain has its beauty.

rata tat, rata tat...

The rain starts again, drizzling refusing to give up.

让我发泄一下不可以吗？

我就是那么有偏见。