...what if you, your sorrows, your joys, your secrets, your lies...
Were just a figment of someone's imagination?
Someone, somewhere, pondered feeling its hands go numb with the weight of its face against them.
Her nose crushed flat on her palms, hands resting down her lap shaking violently as lifeless leaves rustle into pieces across the dusty pavement. The wind blowing in a steady pace sending tiny bits of dirt tingling into the crevices of her bare feet, sticking permanently into the spaces between her skin and nails.
Above, clouds had begun to gather clustering into a black mass threatening to pour its secret down to where this someone, somewhere, had found herself pondering.
You don't know her. But what if this someone, somewhere, is the one behind the imagination in which you live in?
And then rain.