“You’re already sad. The reason you are drawn to the music is because that is validating how you feel…” Tim Ringgold
Fiction. Based on a True Raindrop.
This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
You listen closely to the scratching pens. Metallic tips denting papers fibers. Reverberating a sharp, but gentle sound. Comforting sound. The sound of warm fires on a crisp autumn evening.
Your eyes lift and you see the sun bright outside the window. Casting happy white shadows on the walls. Spring time, they tell you. Time for birth and joy.
But as you sit and watch, and listen, you wonder if spring is true happiness. Not for you. For you, the time for joy and comfort is autumn. Fall. In the Fall. How peculiar that for you the best time of the year, easiest season is when everything else is dying. What does that say about you? Does it mean there is something off about you?
Birds chirp and in your mind’s eye you see a mama bird regurgitate a half eaten worm into her baby’s wide, wide, wide open mouth. Parted beaks, sharp peaks pronounced in your mind’s eye. Your real eyes are shut tight at this point, so your mind’s eye can see more clearly. Sitting there searching the depths of your imagination, you picture all the happy young people sprawled in sunshine. Laying open and free on vast carpets of green, green, green grass. If you listen closely you can hear them out there – laughing and lounging.
Every part of you wants nothing to do with that.
Every part of you wants cinnamon, blankets, and warm mugs of tea. You want crisp air and cleansing rain. Familiar pitter patters trickle down on the glass now present in your mind’s eye. Soundtrack of Harry Potter plays in the background. You look out of that window and see orange and yellow to the edges of the frame. There in your mind’s eye you are sitting at home. Not the physical home you live in, but the home your heart resides in when the Spring is too vibrant and too loud.
Where we are, it rains in the Spring.
You watch the rain dance on the glass.
You are covered in a thick blanket.
Because here, it is cold in the Spring,
As it is in the winter, fall, and sometimes summer.
Where we are, it rains most days of the year.
But on this day, it is colder than usual,
Sharper than usual.
Lonelier than usual.
On this Spring day, with rain and biting winds,
You wipe away the tears
As you pray the sun comes out tomorrow.