ALICE AND THE FRESH RAIN
I miss the smell of fresh rain
Which would blue your eyes and soften your lips.
I miss the words you used to whisper
And would pour into my ears like crazy drops of rain which forgot how to fly.
I miss the silence in between the smiles
Which would light up the days and turn nights into a riddle for the Hatter.
I miss being Alice
When chasing white rabbits was like a brunch with soft roses turning into music.