Before kissing the open terrace of his huge house, the last monsoon drizzle flowed through the creases of his face reflecting his harsh life he had spent waiting for his love. He raised his frail hands in the air, embracing the romance of earth and sky in his breath. He then asked the sky, not to leave the trails of romance with the Earth, as the mud lanes left behind makes him remember his love. The winter which beats his window panes brings the sad, sorrow and sour memories of his lost love. The love which no more exists apart in his half dead body and a weakly beating heart. With that request, he gently folds his lower lip in to his dry mouth tasting the moist sweetness of last drizzle. He knew it is his last drizzle among the several monsoons he had seen. 

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