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The younger ones didn't believe me when I told them that water used to fall from the sky a long time ago.
Even their grandparents were not born when the last rain fell in the village.
Being old means that what you remember most no longer exists except in your head.
That night, while everyone was asleep, I heard a strange sound at the window.
As I looked out, I saw thick translucent drops falling.
Excited, I went out to pick them up, but when I touched them, they evaporated between my fingers.
I understood then that they were nothing more than memories, ghosts of a forgotten past.
The water no longer exists, except in my thirst-tormented mind.
Now I know that the last memory will die with me.
