The blue rain is a sour tide that soaks the breath, and it is also a long-lost miracle. He always watched the rain by the window. The water marks on the glass were like unsent letters, and the handwriting was swollen with water vapor - it was his name. The raindrops hit the rusted railings, and what was splashed was not water, but a dull, rusty throbbing in the chest. Secret love is like an unripe green fruit, fermented in the rain, sour to the tip of the tongue. Later, he got his wish and left. At first, he was always making trouble without reason. Later, even if he found out, he just said calmly, "Look, you are leaving again."
Intention: Learn from people with good temper