Yes it was the season of rain. The season of contradiction. The past had seen him love it the most, and the present feels the contrary. Yes, it can only feel, not see, as it has been blinded, just as his eyes. The aroma that arose from the soil, filled his nostrils and mind likely. It rushed through the crevasses of his heart, and his shoulders felt raindrops pouring through the mist. It was so likely of him to feel these. But then, he felt the spaces between his fingers, which hers used to fill. He felt his empty palm, which she held everytime they stood in the rains. He felt those brown eyes of hers again; which used to be wet with rain drops beneath those lashes, and yes, his eyes were wet, too, but with tear drops. The mud that formed, clasped around his naked feet, just as her arms did clasp his soul. He felt her whisper saying that she loved him. But, ah, all he could hear was the bleak wind. He stood there, with a bowed head, a broken soul, and a lost self; and tears dropped incessantly, just as the rain did.
His eyes stared into nothingness.
The rain poured; through and through.