"Come into my parlour," said the spider to the fly... as the leaf watched, talking to herself as usual. Who else could she talk to?

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Words, she said, were only letters fit together to convey a message. Some of them may be beautiful, but then again, once upon a time, she had felt beautiful too. Would these words then, someday, like her, disappear for all eternity? Their only legacy, a desperate tale being told to any potential listeners...

...she began to muse once again, thinking about the things that people called their 'works'. Were they all going going to end up in the same state too? Forgotten, as the crystal dust, from the shattered remains of a once precious crystal ornament. Forgotten, in the same way that she was...

... Was she dead yet? Who were the people who she had to thank before it was too late? What was their significance to her? Would they be the ones leafing through her memory? How could she thank them with those words that were so meaningless? How would they ever understand...

... they were crucial to her existence, her life... Did she ever have a life at all? Who was she? Just another leaf...? Did she matter to anyone? She thought on, and sighed...

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At that moment, the leaf stopped remembering that she ever existed. And as the rain fell... the rain cried... the rain knew...

that leaves can cry after all.

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