Grief.

The girl in the newspaper shop at the far corner of your housing area died, and you don't know why but you keep on crying. You hardly know her, you have only seen her around in the course of a year. Your meetings have involved grumbles of acknowledgement when she told you the amount of your change, and those accumulate to less than a week's worth of spending time together. And yet you're crying, your lips stretch downwards like a child having eaten sour oranges and your tears throw themselves off of your cheeks like Niagara Falls. You cannot see the traffic light properly through the waterworks and your hands grip the steering wheel tightly that your fingers become yellow from constricted blood flow. Maybe you were secretly in love with her before, your mind speculates, trying to make sense of the overwhelming emotions. Or maybe it's just the song, because on the radio now Muse's Unintended is playing. Maybe she was your secret twin, separated because of something. Maybe because you won't be able to see a familiar face in the newspaper shop at the far corner of your housing area over again and you feel a loss. Maybe because the world will move on like nothing has happened despite the departure of a soul. Whatever the reason may be you cry nevertheless, and cry hard. The song ends, the traffic light turns green, you turn left and sniff.

The following morning, you wake up to a beautiful day.