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?
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?