The Rain

I am in the rain.

I stumble blindly, for I have learned that I cannot trust my eyes.

I hear only blur, a mix of the sound of the water hitting the surface around me and the workings of my own head.

I smell only must in the cold, dead air.

I taste sorrow, the sorrow fueled by the darkness falling around me and in the black sky above me.

I feel nothing but the ice in my veins, flowing from my dark heart, and the cold elements against my numb skin.

I love the rain. . . .