As the coolest droplets of rain prickled around my cheeks, in that same morning I prowled as if Mr. Sun forgets to set his alarm clock. He forgot to wake up. I waited while screeching my toes on the rough cemented-road. I remember it clearly just like a sudden shriek you blaze after paper-edge cuts-off your fingertips. With my red umbrella envelops my whole well-being, I still cannot whined up my fragmented thoughts to bursts out. I waited until a dash of flashing light drive-through the plastic-silk of my umbrella. I smiled…as if the eloquence of the universe collided on the same stem of that little umbrella I’m holding. I laugh. Until I realized that it has the same effect just like years ago. When I was four years old. A little bubbly creature suddenly lay flat on the muddy ground. Crying. Reason? Because of the same act that Mr. Sun did, 20 years later.