Many things drip. They trickle unconsciously into our lives, completely unaware of the consuming presence that they impose upon our fates. They are inevitable, of course. But if we don't wash them off right away they stain, leaving an everlasting reminder of what was once held there. And so forever marked is the fabric of life.
Take ice cream, for example. It melts quickly, staining your skirt which sends the kiddie king running for water. He then protests as it drips down our tongues, you blushing madly in my arms.
Sweat drips, falling off your face as you purify the x-eggs. You glare at me, and I wish more than anything that I could be at your side, allies instead of enemies. Once I am free, perhaps.
Tears drip, staining your cheeks as you run away. I shouldn't go, you cry out in anguish. But now I've come back, and I'll never leave you again.
And one night, rain drips into puddles on the road as your family drives home. Your dad, he didn't think to slow down.
Clear liquid drips down the tube in your arm. You can't move, you can't speak, but I can see it in your eyes that you don't want me to let go of your hand.
It was sunny the day of the funeral, almost as if the sky was granting tribute to the last ray of sunshine my heart had ever held. As I look at your lifeless face, I can't help but wonder if you loved me as well.
I lie brokenly in our teacup, tainted knife lying inches from my hand. The world dims before my eyes, and all is silent for but one soft sound.
Drip
Drip
Drip
Is this blood or tears falling? Or is there even a difference? They're one in the same- only pain can break the delicate surface that keeps them from flowing. And as they fall together and mingle as one, the heart beats for the last time.