jasminemary
The rain pours down on her, filling her with a sense of completion, a sense of almost sadness.
(She remembers what it was like to be young and carefree, to watch the rain and feel no sense of kinship with it, only a sort of acceptance of it; she remembers being young, and she remembers loving the rain, dancing in it.
She doesn't dance anymore.)
She walks around and the water droplets slip through her fingers like sand through an hourglass (and oh, she hates how she thinks like that, thinks in metaphors now instead of reality) and she smiles, pretending she doesn't care.