My tears are like the rain,

But unlike the rain they fall,

Down my cheeks like rolling hills,

Through the cleft in my chin like a canyon.

But after I cry, my face is wet

And the rain hasn’t come so the ground is dry.

As a tear falls off me down below,

It hits his arm and evaporates as it reaches the ground.

It left a trail through the dirt on his skin,

I wander if my face matches the pattern.

Unlike me, he doesn’t shed a tear, perhaps that’s more like the rain then I.

He looks so peaceful, unlike the days that I would now think of as his last.

I feel the wetness on my face drying,

I look up at the sun surrounded by blue,

I take a deep breath,

My crying is through,

But still mourning his death,

I start to head west.