Running through the streets of New York in the rain

is like standing at the edge of the world and having no idea where you want to go.

All I know

is that as my hair hung, wet, and the moisture that hit my skin, set,
I could feel myself living.

I could feel the people parading the streets.
Their feet hitting the floor harder and faster than the raindrops that fell around them.
Their sound
echoing the gun shots they walked in dispute of.
Their shouts
screamed louder for them by the skies above.

I was but a particle of one minuscule droplet that fell to the pavement on one street of that entire city that night.

But I felt like the storm.