I can't explain, the feeling of rain.

It feels like I'm trying to catch clouds, really. Like I've got a nice empty jar waiting to be filled with warm, puffy clouds. But, how do I get them inside? How can one possibly capture something so beautiful and sweet, yet not quite ordinary, but definately taken for granted?

I admit, I'd feel a bit miffed if they were like sweet fairy floss in my fingertips. Eventually it would become too sweet and melt away at the touch of a delicately moist tongue. Instead I'm blessed (please regaurd my religious reference as just another adjective, describing the peculiar greatness of it all), with an explosion of clouds, surrounding the world that is my heart, and spinning around ever so gracefully.

So here I stand, reaching effortfully, atop my green apple tree, glass jar ready in hand, trying to sweep the essence of cloud with my palm. Of course, it will never come, but it will always be there, dancing tantelisingly above me, with such protection that a sense of safety practically overwhelms me.

Sometimes I feel nautious with the amount of times I go tumbling down boistrous hills all day, with the mistakes of the past, catching up with my future and presenting me with painful bumps and bruises of regret. But, as they heal, I learn, and so the clouds help me. They watch me at the top of the steepest of hills and immediately capture my attention. I lay down and watch the clouds, changing from swirly snails to angry dinosaurs and all that's between, and I smile till I feel the upward crease of my lips, and smile harder still.

There's something about these clouds that make me wish I could run away from them, and I try to sometimes. But they know I enjoy their beauty, so they'll never leave me. They will hug me snuggly and I will never be empty again.

But then I remember when the floated away one dreary day. And my tears drowned my world worse than hail or rain. My eyes pained with the memories and my heart jerked with the thought that such an event could ever happen again. I can survive without the clouds, but I definately don't like to.

So now I lie staring patiently at the clouds and see that for now they are mine. They are my clouds and even when they drift away, their shaddow will sink behind the dark forests and at the bottom of deep hills, and I will visit them every day. I can't forget what they mean to me, but all the same I grow impatient.

I will my clouds to shower me in rain, hail even better. I want them to drown me in happiness and passion and care, but most of all love. When my clouds rain on me, I will finally feel the love that is burried thick in their slivers of puff.

Maybe if I scream at them and beg them to rain, or tell them I love them, then they will feel the same.