Not always seen.
Not always clear.
They roll off a cheek,
Down a nose,
Away from an eye.
Flowing out like an ocean,
Or standing there on the boarder,
Waiting to see if you mean it or not.
Waiting to see if it's all real.
The cleansing dampness they leave behind.
The soothing emptiness they give you.
The end is the end.
You can't change what is already over.