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"Their wings are beautiful, aren't they?"
He caressed the feathers slowly, not daring to go further past the head — scared he would take their glow away.
"Say... do you believe in the afterlife?"
You averted your gaze towards the ground, tired of looking at the blue sky.
"Afterlife...?" You mumbled.
He got up from the bench you were situated on, and slowly let the little bird walk over to a piece of moss. Its right pinion was injured — such a small wound — but enough to prohibit it from performing the sweet waltz it dreamt of.
You couldn't see his face, but the way he gently spoke to you made your ears drown in bittersweet honey — a melody you never wanted to forget.
"What's the point of an afterlife?"
He chuckled lowly.
"What's the point of the point?" The unknown man mused.
You frowned.
"There is always a point if there is no point. One must hear with their eyes and see with their ears, to overcome the point." You answered, unsure whether he really wanted to hear your response.
He picked up his bag, his back still facing you.
"Meet me at three o' three."
"What's the meaning of this?" You quizzed. Nothing came into your mind that could give you a hint.
"There is no meaning. But... you'll understand once you become one with the rain, while the grey clouds are crashing down on you."
You looked over to the clouds peacefully floating around the sky. They weren't cutting each their legs of — simply seeming to mind their own business and live. Live a life they weren't aware of.
"Bullshit. I-" and as you turned to look at his back again, he was gone.
