Can you recall the feeling

of standing in the rain at grey dusk

and letting the soft drops drench you,

fold you in a welcoming embrace,

how you felt chilled and alive and special and pure?

Everything disappeared

except for the muddy grass squelching between your toes.

Do you remember tipping your face back,

how you wanted to see the rain

but always blinked as it fell in your eyes?

The water was warm

because it was still July,

and the clouds of a tropical depression

were disgorging their bloated bellies

after weeks of oppressive, sweaty heat.

Wasn't it a beautiful feeling,

standing there alone in silence

knowing that no one else

could experience it the way you did?

The rain was stripping you

of excess layers of everyday filth,

bringing your skin closer to your soul,

and you fell in love

with everything good

all over again.

And later, inside,

when you put your pencil

against the paper,

remember how you knew

that years later

the words would bring you back?