When it Rains, it Pours

I’ve experienced a different kind of monsoon this year. In a strange new city, amidst vaguely familiar people. I heard the pitter patter of raindrops falling against my window panes. I heard the thunderstorm unleashing at your end too over our early morning calls. The coffee tastes different, more fulfilling somehow. The days pass by quickly, less mundane somehow. And weekends, oh the weekends are divine. For on weekends, the rains truly shine. And on weekends, you find the time to be mine. If only for a moment, if only till it’s raining outside.

Micro Poetry #4

Pitter Patter

On the window sill

Slip and shatter

If you will

Tiny drops of water

Have your fill.

Hello lovely people!

Would you please be so kind as to tell me your interpretation of this piece in the comments sections down below? I went in a few different directions while writing it and would love to hear what you think! (Also, to validate my own thoughts but never mind me🙈.)

As always, thank your reading!

Love,

Varnika