Droplets. Dew. It’s falling again. I can hear it from beyond. What did I call it back in the day? There’s a rhythm to it. A chill, a warmth. What is it that I loved about it so much? Maybe it was how it eased the day’s tension, making me slip deep into a fuzzy slumber. Or perhaps it was the symphonic beat it had, like an underpaid DJ taking in the night like it was the last they’d ever know. The sounds blended together; perhaps it was like a colony of bees all working towards a common goal, knowing that the whole of the community depended on each other. The way it would fall on me was such a clear sign that something was working and working right that it’s no wonder that I believed there was more to Earth than grave dirt and infomercials.
I think most people in my situation would miss their family, or maybe a lover. A best friend? Never had one. But what I did have was sensations and the art I made to convey them. Cheap lead, printer paper, bleeding