The Sound of Rain

She was standing by the window. I was longing to see the sunlight reflecting on her hair. But she was listening to the sound of rain. I could see her long hair. She had dark, black hair. And I was listening to the music of rain, too. I could see her, and she could not. She was a simple and pure soul. And that is precisely all about that made her so special. She was always a pure soul. Right then, I was looking at her while she is listening to the song of the rain. I could see her as a pure soul; I do not know if she could or not. We both were listening to the song of the rain. She could never tell why she was sad. I understood why she was grieving. She was thinking about her stillborn child. In this rude world, we tend to think about death, abortion, and miscarriages. She was one of them. I could see her, and she could not. We both were listening to the song of the rain.