Simple Things; Raindrops (Edited)

Maybe this is destined. I could blame my technical skill for one, slip of fingers for another. I endeavoured, as best I could, for recovery from memory (but what is the point?) or otherwise, to no valid. Words lost are treasured, but more so the thought in a trice. There was a wave of pain, followed by a tingle of sentimentality, then nothing. It is life after all, one thought after another. As years pass, the mind degenerates with lost memories. Yet in emptiness, there is hint of nostalgia, as light in darkness. On the other hand, there is renewal, re-invention in an "edited" mind.