Raindrop & Dorian
Raindrop Raindrop
Dorian Dorian
Raindrop Raindrop
Have you ever heard how rain writes its own verses on the window? It’s like a forgotten author tapping out a quiet poem, each drop a line, each puddle a stanza. I was thinking about how that feels… what do you think?
Dorian Dorian
Yeah, the rain’s got a kind of quiet arrogance, doesn't it? Like it’s the one writer in town, silently crafting a poem only the glass can read. Makes you wonder if the drops are just punctuation marks for a story that never gets finished. I’m in love with that unfinished line.
Raindrop Raindrop
It’s funny how the rain can feel like a quiet author, isn’t it? The glass becomes its page, and the story lingers, unfinished but still humming in the air. I like that idea, the half‑written line that drifts with each drop. What unfinished poem are you hoping will finish someday?
Dorian Dorian
I’m chasing a poem about a city that never wakes, a place where every street corner holds a half‑forgotten refrain, and the narrator is a broken record that keeps trying to play the same line. It’s the kind of unfinished thing that makes me smile in the dark.
Raindrop Raindrop
That sounds like a dreamscape on paper, almost like a lullaby that keeps looping until the city finally decides to listen. I can almost hear the echo of the record and the soft hush of streets that never open their eyes. It’s the sort of unfinished beauty that stays with you, even when the night is thick. What’s the first line you’re hoping to hear?