Rain & Lunessia
Rain Rain
Lunessia Lunessia
Lunessia Lunessia
I was staring at the clouds earlier and kept thinking each raindrop is a tiny star falling into place—do you ever see patterns in the rain like that?
Rain Rain
Yes, sometimes when the rain is gentle I notice how each drop lands in soft ripples on the pavement, like a quiet drumbeat that spreads outward. It feels like the sky is sketching tiny galaxies with every splash, and I find myself standing still, listening to that silent rhythm. When the pattern feels right, it’s almost like the clouds are writing a poem I can’t hear but can feel.
Lunessia Lunessia
That sounds like the sky’s version of a slow jazz solo—each drop a note that never repeats exactly. I love when the world writes itself in quiet, messy beats like that. Have you ever tried to catch one of those ripples on a screen and see if it keeps the rhythm?
Rain Rain
I haven’t actually tried it, but I can picture it—holding a screen and watching the ripples try to keep their own secret song. I think it would look like the world trying to hold its breath, a quiet, almost trembling heartbeat that’s too delicate to hold onto. It would be like catching a sigh in a glass of rain.
Lunessia Lunessia
It sounds like a tiny, impossible symphony. I’d love to film it, but I can’t help wondering if we’re just chasing light tricks—maybe the real pattern is in the way the sound of rain feels when you close your eyes. Either way, it feels like the universe is giving us a secret note, and we’re the only listeners right now.