Torrential Exhilaration

I have never been able to decide what it is that I love so much about rainstorms. Maybe it's the earth-shaking power of the thunder vibrating through every cell of my being. Or, maybe, it's the energy that charges through the atmosphere after a lightning strike, making the air tingle with vitality. Maybe it's the smell of the rain on the pavement as it washes away the filth of mankind, refreshing the world in a way only Mother Nature can, or the patterns the dripping water makes as it slides down the windowpane.

Perhaps, it’s something more personal: how flashes of light carve vivid pictures of life ­into my eyes – stopping time, if only for a moment. It might be that a thunderclap rings true to my soul, as if the mighty reverberation was the call I have been longing to make but I could never find my voice.

Or, could it have more to do with my memories of rainstorms than the actual storm itself? Taking long, drenched walks with him, as light-hearted and energised as if we hadn’t a care in the world. Or, dancing on the soggy lawn with my siblings, arms pointing toward the heavens and excitement flashing in our eyes in time with the brilliant spikes of lightning. Maybe, the downpour serves as a reminder of places I’ve been to, people I’ve known, things I have done, as if it were my consciousness swirling above me in the sky.

Or, quite simply, the rain is a rift in the humid, hot weather I am so ­accustomed to.

A gentle waving of the right hand, a soft, "Bye!" in numerous forms, and sometimes, even a smile -- gestures and words almost too familiar to us. Sometimes, tears follow or precede these actions. Sometimes, we manage to hold in all of our feelings until we are all alone, when we are free to write them down and dot the pages with the tears that had refused to come before. More often than not, we have had to say goodbye. Family, friends, mentors, and even situations and lifestyles.

I guess, over the years, I still have not become resistant to the feelings that come along with watching someone walking out of my life - or walking out of someone else's.

Barricaded in the room. First, I see the sky light up for moments that expand and swell ever outward, alive. Later, the drops of warm, magical rain -- when it soaks up the pavement; it smells just like love. And as the lightning becomes more frequent, I feel so solid, so whole yet unreal; just thinking I am right in my own morbid prediction months ago.

All that matters -- memories of every time we didn't touch, distinct yet certain, I embrace boldly without hesitation. As much as I hate this protective exclusion as it effectively writes me off the page, I do not run anymore.