Ever since you told me that you think of me every time it rains,
I've been smiling like an idiot and staring into space.

I've never seen anyone as in love with the rain as I am
and my parents have never seen me smile the way that I am
smiling right now.

Oh but what kind of rain could we be?
Light as drizzles?
Heavy as hurricanes?
Sizzling as thunderstorms?
Dangerous as typhoons?

Are we
the continuous rain of an August night?
The melted snow of Winter transitioning
into Spring?

I know! We are the first Summer rain. Cool and refreshing.
The rain that makes you rush out of the house and into the grey, grey skies.
The rain you've been wishing for after a long warm night.
The rain that you want to stay under until it dries.
The rain you want to savor for the rest of your life.

Stay a little longer, will you?

We are not the ******* first summer rain, anymore. When heated water vapor condenses and unstable airs break through, we are now as dangerous as thunderstorms, cracking and flashing and desperately wanting to burn the whole sky down.

I made a mistake. We are nothing but drizzles.

It seems that our love is like the rain. It will pour hard, unleashing all the contained energy. Then it will pour harder, letting it all go, consuming our very being. And eventually, it will stop. Leaving nothing but the aftermath of us which will dry soon enough. Looking like nothing even happened.

I will
Still remember you
As the rain
My eyes, my heart, my brain
Poured out.
(Leaving me empty
And dry.)

You weren't meant to stay longer, my love, my rain. Because if you did, we would have drowned the entire existence with drastic floods.

I still love the rain. (Just as I still know I loved you.)