Yet another rain drop, but its my lens to the world.
Sweet when it rains, salty when it flows over the soil of time.
Chronicles an alluvium of nostalgia and scars.
My home in the virtual world, I fondly call it, The White Bougainvillea.
Frolicking froth fizzles away but the salty taste lingers. Sun will rise and blaze all day before it sets again. The vastness overwhelms then swallows your finiteness into infinite depth. If you can fathom it, you ought to be marine and not terrestrial.