Silently,
the tears stream down.
Rivulets merge, rivers form,
a latticework against pale skin.
The sting of the salt
goes unnoticed.

Its an odd sensation
watching an entire ocean,
an eternity of tides,
sweep like flash floods
without feeling anything.

The night muffles sound,
absorbing it
into its ebony vastness.
The eternal ocean pours silently.

Reflections of forever
trace soft, silent paths,
slipping and sliding,
one drop following a thousand different paths,
each path holding a thousand
sadnesses
and a thousand
memories
carrying them away,
flowing into the past and the future.

The drops
chase each other,
race each other,
cast shadows and form bonds so easily broken
its as though they never were.
They're forgotten in seconds.
If only each bond,
each connection,
could be remembered.
Rather, they fade
into the folds of history
silently passing,
without marker,
except in the mind.

Finally,
I reach down
to brush the ocean off of my pale skin.
But the ocean,
the tears,
are merely
the reflection
of falling rain
through the darkened window of my car.