Dead people receive more flowers than the living ones because regret is stronger than gratitude.
Raindrops fall softly on the tin roof of my house. The gray sky with the gloomy clouds is the perfect setting for deep retrospective thoughts. Nostalgia overwhelms my senses and with a dull ache in my heart, I give in. As the rain pours down heavily outside, I let my mind wander into the alleys of the past.
There I see a house.
The old house of my childhood days.
The white paint appears fresh. The windows are clean with the new curtains and the garden is as green as ever.
Still as same as it used to be, years ago.
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