They are the only ones who know me. I am the only one who knows them. Three worrisome clouds with droopy eyes and heavy tears that fall with such might. Three who do not wish to see the tragedies we endure but have no choice. Three helpless spectators born in the sky. From my room, I can see them, but I know not how often they see me.
Their perspective is torturous. They beat the ground with countless tears in anguish. They fill up and they burst and drench the earth beneath their faces and soak the grass with bitter tears and never escape their sadness. This is how they cry.
Let one hold in his tears, he’d sink to the ground like an anchor, each moment inching closer to what he wishes he didn’t have to see. Cry, cry, cry they do when I sleep. They weep.
When I am too sad and too tired to keep crying, when I am but one small star in the universe, then it is I gaze at the clouds. When there is nothing left to look at on this earth. Three who remained afloat despite what they saw. Three who soar and do not hesitate to soar. Three whose only purpose is to watch and be watched.