Words From a Dying Soul

Cassie Harris

I’m allergic to gluten, yet here I am eating plain microwaved waffles with my hands in my bedroom with the lights off while watching a thunderstorm happen outside. Raindrops fall so far from the clouds, and the first thing they hit when they fall is my window. They think their journey is over once they splash against the glass surface. However, hitting against my window signals the start of an unintentional race to the bottom edge of the pane. After that, their journey continues off-screen as they run down the rust-colored siding of my house. From there, who knows their fate? The raindrops could land onto the fertile green grass, or the unevenly-paved driveway, or the roof to the front porch, or the uneven wooden stairs leading to my backyard. The raindrops don’t really know what they are doing, they just let gravity choose their path. It would be so easy to be a raindrop.

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