The sound of rain on a tin roof
Since they moved, they hadn’t been to their old neighbourhood. It had already been three years. They found themselves on their old street by chance, having taken a wrong turn.
It was still there, only seeming abandoned.
Their old studio. The one where they first met and became intimate. Where they shared their dreams and learnt about one another.
The one where they would crawl into each other’s arms to sleep on nights when their lullaby was the patter of rain on the tin roof.
Some sounds will always be associated to certain memories no matter how much time passes.
Also part of Friday Fictioneers