Ages ago I asked a dreamer
(A feeler and a magician, as well) 
What love looked like on the inside
When those who are in it cannot tell

If it's tough enough, strong enough, red enough
(And of course, to be honest, is it true)
So that, if possible, we can avoid any pain
And the mistakes and the whatifs, too.

He told me:
It appears like a rainforest drizzle,
Somewhat expected, though still a blessing,
And its term is always indiscernible
Though in its haze, we still dance and sing.

And I said:
And what of the broken hearts,
Those who thought what they held was good:
They felt true things, they saw true light,
But they lost it all in the woods. 

He said: 
What they had was worthy and fine,
Though it seemed to bring nothing but pain, 
For a shower can bring both cleansing and fire:
And we call it acid rain.

So I say:
Why question the love you are given?
Trying to name it, excuse it, or worse-
Instead, let it pass over you like a rainstorm,
Whether it floods, or if it's your first.

Breathe in the scent and inebriation,
Drown yourself in petrichor.
For when love hits you, it hits you hard,
And when it rains, it pours.