Sometimes I picture myself in a black suit, a rose in one hand, a tear going down my cheek and reaching my mouth, hum salty.
"Rene was more than a colleague to me, he was a friend."
Then I drop the rose on the casket walk away and fall in an other grave being digged. I shout very loud but the digger burries me as if I wasn't here.
Then I wake up and I see it's raining outside.
Damn. I hate the rain.
