Drip… drip… drip…

Kneeling, she counts each droplet

Of bitterness and fears

Hoping the next would not fall

Yet here they come

Dropping on the ground

“Forty,” she wails

In a hurt voice

And touched her hand

On her bruised arm

The pain she nursed and nurtured

And it wounded her deep down

“Eighty-one,” she sobs

In a weak voice

And placed her palm

On her trembling chest

Heavy with every breath she takes

And her heart broke down

“A hundred and twenty,” she weeps

In a hopeless tone

And placed her forehead

On her hand on the ground

Firmly it pushed against her

And held her to where she was

Drip… drip… drip…

Turning back, she lost her count

And the tears went on

Ignoring her

And she, ignoring them,

Stands up

“Nevermore.”