Parallelism

Rain is falling outside:
Hear the sounds of my concealed melancholy.
A drop trickles down the windowpane -
My hand reaches out to wipe it away.
But I touch only the cold glass.

My tears are falling slowly now:
See the concretization of my secret sorrow.
A bitter drop slips down my cheek -
My hand reaches out, again, to wipe it away.
But I only feel the sadness intensify.

Written on a gloomy, rainy Saturday.