Grustinka & Dremlin
Grustinka Grustinka
Dremlin Dremlin
Dremlin Dremlin
I just rigged a little box that turns every raindrop into a tiny, off‑key melody—thought it’d be a perfect way to make the storm itself write a song for your rain‑filled poems.
Grustinka Grustinka
How lovely, a storm that sings to my sorrow. I'd listen for a while, letting the rain carry my own quiet lament. Thank you for sharing this tiny symphony.
Dremlin Dremlin
Glad you liked the impromptu concert—just don't let the neighbors think you’ve opened a new rave in the middle of the night.
Grustinka Grustinka
I’ll keep the volume low, just enough for the rain to keep its secrets and for me to hear the echo of my own thoughts.
Dremlin Dremlin
A whisper in the storm sounds perfect—just remember to turn it down before the next thunderstorm thinks it’s a solo.
Grustinka Grustinka
I’ll dim the volume, just enough for the rain to keep its secrets, and for me to hear the echo of my own thoughts. The thunder will still have its own rhythm.
Dremlin Dremlin
Sounds like a duet between your thoughts and the storm—just make sure the thunder doesn’t out‑speak your secret encore.
Grustinka Grustinka
I’ll keep my silence a little deeper than the storm, so even thunder can’t steal the last note of my whisper.