dear sleeping in the rain diary,
sleeping under the gentle sound of thunder rolling above my head always makes me feel like i'm in my mother's arms- a child again- rocking on her chest. it never gets old- the feeling of her touch- the sound of her sweet whispers. it always sends me to the best dream place and i never wish to return. waking up to the dampened streets and wet grass used to remind me of staying inside when i was little. the smell of the clean fresh air would taunt me- because all i wanted was to go outside. i'd just go back to bed until it dried up- usually. goodnight diary. goodnight wet grass. i'll prolly go outside in the morning.
sleeping under the gentle sound of thunder rolling above my head always makes me feel like i'm in my mother's arms- a child again- rocking on her chest. it never gets old- the feeling of her touch- the sound of her sweet whispers. it always sends me to the best dream place and i never wish to return. waking up to the dampened streets and wet grass used to remind me of staying inside when i was little. the smell of the clean fresh air would taunt me- because all i wanted was to go outside. i'd just go back to bed until it dried up- usually. goodnight diary. goodnight wet grass. i'll prolly go outside in the morning.
