Sadness is easy to manipulate A solitude figure, stock-still. Alone. His white hair wet, clothes damp. Tears streaked down his face as he silently stood in the pouring rain. Drops of water splashing against him as people rushed inside. And right then and there. He wanted to be a raindrop. Falling from the sky, glistening proudly, then sinking into the ground or melting into a puddle, waiting to stomped on. Because nothing could crush his heart anymore. There was nothing left to crush.
