Jul 2018
Drip drop
Two words. They make me think of rainfall on a dark night. Cozy. Snug. Back when lines were blurred and I was a child who didn’t have to pretend I was all grown up. But ‘drip drop’ isn’t real and that’s not the pattering sound rain makes as it hits the ground, no, that’s too surreal. It will never be a slow comfort to the ears that sends soaring sears of pleasant shivers up my spine to the tip of my head. A Moment. Mine. It will never be a memory of my dad, my mum, once, tucking me in bed while it rains outside and they lean over, with a gleam in their eye, and whisper to me before sleep. ‘Drip drop’ they said. But now I hear ‘freak’.
Two words. They make me think of rainfall on a dark night. Cozy. Snug. Back when lines were blurred and I was a child who didn’t have to pretend I was all grown up. But ‘drip drop’ isn’t real and that’s not the pattering sound rain makes as it hits the ground, no, that’s too surreal. It will never be a slow comfort to the ears that sends soaring sears of pleasant shivers up my spine to the tip of my head. A Moment. Mine. It will never be a memory of my dad, my mum, once, tucking me in bed while it rains outside and they lean over, with a gleam in their eye, and whisper to me before sleep. ‘Drip drop’ they said. But now I hear ‘freak’.
