The rainy season came, with winds that chilled and skies that dimmed, as if the world above was wrapped in a misty hymn. The sounds of music clashed with nature’s breath, weaving melodies of life and death.

He, the jester in the circus, had fallen for a violinist in the church. Each day, he'd wander to the oak tree’s edge, lost in the notes that echoed in the air, a longing only he could bear.

He adored, he yearned, his heart ached with delight, yet like grass that cannot touch the sky’s height, he could only watch you from the night.