The storm howled and growled and demanded to disperse pieces of us across the horizon. It felt like the last breezes from the Garden of Eden.

Suddenly, I was grinded into dust and you were melted into rain.
As I fell, I learned to feel. It felt like a life all at once.

My dust was everywhere and I was the dust.
The storm shoved me in all different directions but I was still whole.

I touched the ground.

I now know the wind as if he were my own lungs.
I know the sun as if she were my hands.
Know the ocean as if it were my own tears
And know your rain as if you were my own soul.

But I still miss you.

Now whenever it rains, I feel it again, the feeling of learning to feel.
I soak you up. I can't tell the difference between you and me.
It's messy and we turn into mud but we bask in it.

Once the sun comes again, I feel you evaporate from me.
I hold onto you until it feels like a drought.
I've always wondered what it feels like for you to rise back up to the clouds.

After a few of your rainy days, I hear the echo of muffled words.
A few more, I feel the bluest of blue poems tearing through me, towards the sun.

Day after day, it blooms and rises closer to the clouds, your home.
And when you fall, I feel the petals open just a bit more.

As the blue sinks its roots into me, I weaken.
You seem to be falling less and less, only dripping to make a sound.

Although we no longer have the words, the words we use are as if they are spoken from the lips of God.

I hear the howling and growling again.

What was I before the storm?