tinkler on the rooftop. with each sundrop on the tin roof, the floor sweats and wonders where it is stuck. sitting on the 11th floor he wishes to feel the soft breeze of the wind whispering into his ears but he is burdened by the walls of the room and cries every morning wishing for that one breeze to touch him.
the walls look at him with a corny smile, the floor quietly weeps and wishes, but the pretty breeze has no idea. she wishes everyday that the floor would atleast show his face and feel her essence but her wishes only remains a wish.
*the floor today is 1200 years old and the breeze 900. And they both.. live breathing through their wish.
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