Rain

I turn my face up to the falling rain, thinking as I do that some small part of the water splashing against me has touched you not to long ago.

I breath then - adding my own gift of water to the mixture. A simple prayer for simple pleasures. Giving of oneself is the only real sacrifice we can make to love.

The rain is kind, not just because it is partly you. Falling water hides my tears, which are another offering to you. The roughness of my voice is easily hidden in the expectation of some sort of illness.

Nothing could be closer to the truth though, it is a sickness. You are a fever to me. I want, not a lot, but too much all the same. I can't find you which is just as well, for I can blame the pain I feel on the absence of you.

I've seen your image in the clouds and there has never been anything more beautiful to my eyes, or more powerful. It, alone, has kept me moving when all I want is to lay down, unmoving. My worn muscles cry out at the motions required by you. The heart that leads them is steadfast. It, alone, keeps the rest going in the whole of the dream of you.