Drip, splash, drip Drip-drip, splash, splash. These are the sounds of my kitchen sink. The drip and the splash mean more than you think. The whoosh of running water filling the sink to the edge spilling over like plink and gush. Pooling onto the floor soaking into the carpets; stepping through the water like squish, and squash, and hush. Where do I go from here? The kitchen sink is overflowing and I have no clue what to do. Though, the sound of the plink and splash is calming. It takes me back to the beach when I was with my Johnny Boy and the crash and boom of waves were so loud we couldn’t hear each other. The memory puts me at rest. The kitchen starts to fill past my neck, past my nose with water. I’m drowning like I did with my John. The water floods my ears making me go deaf. But this time it’s peaceful. It’s better than hearing the plunk and sploosh of the sink or the rain. Maybe I’ll stay here a while and take away the pain.