To many, the sounds of the constant, rhythmic dripping of water would be akin to forms of torture, but to him, it was relaxing, relieving. No matter what changed in the world, no matter the pain inflicted upon existence, no matter the amount of ravaging done to lands far and wide, inhabited and uninhabited, water would always drip. The water would always hide her sound to the superficial listeners until the point of impact. The typical, recognizable “plop” from when the ground and water meet resonates in the ears of all. Yet, it is nothing compared to the soft, unnoticed sound as the droplet separates from its origin. To the light whine she makes as she leaves home, to a throaty cry she makes as she falls to her end. Each water droplet sings from her creation until even after her demise. But her songs can only be heard in full by the most attentive listeners. For those who only idly ponder her existence, the water makes no noise, silent until she can fall no more, at the end, where she can no longer control her cries.

               But he listens closer.

               He hears her every cry, listens to her every sob. He remains there through each one, yet feels no remorse, for he realizes that though she had lost herself, her fall had created a new life just like her. Her termination brought about the formation of another clear droplet. A cycle of life and existence is created by the existence of her and many other like her, and so she fall