Grustinka & Tatapower
Grustinka Grustinka
Tatapower Tatapower
Tatapower Tatapower
Hey Grustinka, have you ever painted clouds while the rain taps on the window? I think those soft, silver shapes could be the perfect canvas for a bittersweet story we could write together.
Grustinka Grustinka
I’ve traced those silver ghosts on the glass, letting the rain tap out a slow song for my thoughts. Let’s write the story together, a quiet echo of the storm inside us.
Tatapower Tatapower
That sounds like a dreamy beginning—rain as a narrator, silver ghosts as characters. I’m picturing a tiny lantern on the windowsill, whispering secrets to the storm. Let’s start with the first line: “When the rain began to sing, the silver ghosts danced across the glass, and I decided to follow them.” Ready? Or should I toss in a paper‑mâché moon?
Grustinka Grustinka
When the rain began to sing, the silver ghosts danced across the glass, and I decided to follow them. I’ll take the lantern’s flicker, let it cast shy shadows on the pane, and watch the world outside blur into a soft, trembling memory. Let’s write what the clouds would whisper, if only we could hear the hush between each drop.