It was a beautiful rainy day. The streets were dead, the roads were cold, the leaves were dry, and the day was vibrant gray. I was standing in the center of the cold road, embracing the kisses of the soft rain. I felt free and not freedom; the oxygen was finally rushing to the fourth finger of my left hand. Everything was perfect.
Except that I was expecting for the red rain; the anger, the rage, and the pain. Though the wet taps I met were the purple rain; the fear, the sadness, and the mourning.
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