I love rain. Especially when I’m indoors. To me it means a cup of hot chocolate, a paperback, or carrying on with work safe and warm inside
And I tend to have lovely thoughts when it’s pouring outside –
or even when it’s blustery.
Lanky l’s, thin t’s
on scented stationery
sweet love scribbles like
chicken claw scratches on soil
he’s now a surgeon
A quick trip down memory lane: He was seventeen. I was sixteen. His letters showed hints that he was poised to become a doctor. He sent roses…. We drifted apart. It was tough. But like everything else you get over it.
Fast forward to 2012: He sent me a brief note. Probably written during a break in a 16-hour shift. This time it was absolutely legible. Facebook does wonders ;p