The Rain is My Own Metronome

In the rain. Again. It's nice out here.
It's only a drizzle now, but I don't mind.
As it falls around me, I can sense myself slipping away.
Am I? It's more like an awakening,
I always feel alive in the rain.
Every drop that touches my skin makes me more aware of myself,
Makes me feel... Something.
It's cold outside but the raw emotion within me burns once more.
I'm afraid to touch myself, would it hurt?
Would whatever it is surging through me somehow escape the confines of my veins?
I almost forgot how much I missed this sensation:
the rain even massages the far reaches of my mind, and
I feel it press upon my skull.
This... thing, inside me, is it real or imagined?
If I touched you now would you feel it? Would it spark?
Will it jolt what's been sleeping within you as well?
I'd hope so. Wish you could feel this. Know this.
Is that - even as the thunder's bellows call to me
My soul calls to it.
None has walked the Earth who has understood me like the thunder, my old friend.
The resonance of its cries pulls my soul from my body to meet it, and
We both thrash upon the ground.
I dance with the wind as it tugs at my clothes and tousles my curls
Never thinking that it would end, but it did.
It was a while before my soul saw that it was alone and retreated back into my body.
I didn't even notice the thunder had said its goodbye
The wind gave my face one final caress and my pants a parting playful tug
and he too, left me.
As the rain died, I thought I would join it.
My heart's erratic beat was replaced by dull, hollow thuds. Empty. Worthless.
I folded into myself again, unwilling to behold the world without my icy sheets
Or allow it to look at me.