The rain feels good. It always feels good when you're sick. I should've just waited for it to come, but instead I called it. I justify this display by a basic need that I often, literally, forget: the need to feel.
The rain allows me to feel.
I want to hold it with the compassion a new father holds his new child. . . I cradle it with the care it takes someone to say I love you without actually saying it. . .
I know. . .
I'll always do the right thing as long as I'm not afraid. . .
I forgive you.
I love you.
The white fades and without a thought I spread my wings over their helpless figures, covering them from the rain. . . the rain that I called. The rain that never goes away. The rain that allows them to feel.
There is a special place, known to me. It wasn't given and it wasn't created. It's not anything real or unreal.
It's always raining there. And the rain is always warm. The grass always licks my feet and the leaves never fall. . .
Oh how i've missed this place. . Oh how I have just wanted to return and never come back. Oh how it hurts me so badly to call the rain again. . .
The rain that is always warm and allows me to feel. . . and never. . . . ever. . . goes away.
Welcome back :)
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