Although filled with stormy grey clouds, the sky was still lonely.

It cried its rains relentlessly and endlessly.

The grief-stricken downpour drenched the beautiful green background that were the trees and flowers, which were already hardly visible with the fog.

Walking in white shoes through the muddy, boggy terrain, looking down to avoid getting the sky’s tears in my own.

I followed no thing but hope.

Hope was the only thing to follow.

Blindly walking, sightlessly looking, senselessly following, foolishly hoping.

As the time passed the storm grew thicker, darker, and louder.

It was all sorrowful, desolate, spiritless, broken, and dejected.

The otherwise beautiful scenery was made dark, alone and obscured.

And all of this was the inside of my soul.