Apr 7, 2012
In the ray of the streetlamps, raindrops slowed in their fall, the thick light resisting their descent to the ground; dark steam rose from grates underfoot as the streets exhaled the heat of yesterday. In profile, your iris was like the silver horizon seen from the window of an airplane as it flies against the dark. You said, it should always rain at midnight.
Stephanie Ye, Ceriph #02