Once a drop of rejection fell on a young girl’s head.
It soaked into her skull, oozed through her brain, dripped through the roof of her mouth and fell onto her tongue.
She swallowed it.
Down her throat it ran and settling for a moment in her stomach, it soaked though the lining and slid into the lake of rejection pooled within her.
“It was just a drop,” said her mother. “I can’t understand why she is going on and on about it.”
“Clearly, she is overreacting,” said her father.
“She can be a drama princess,” said her friend.
She went to a therapist.
“Our psychic aquifers are made of individual drops that fall on us one at a time,” she said, “and trickling through us, find their way to all the other drops inside of us like them.”
I’m drowning,” said the girl.
“We drown,” said the therapist, “one drop at a time, and we dry one loving pat at a time too.”