the acrid taste in the air is always achingly familiar, like a dream or a memory from centuries ago. i've always loved watching things cry. someday i want to hold someone in the rain with the end of earth drumming behind us like a slow build up, thunder that falls out of the heavens ungracefully and brings with it a perfect crack in sky like the stars have had temper tantrums and hurled themselves outwards. rain turns my tongue strawberry milk pink and glimmers my hair liquid and runs fingers against my bones. a kiss, an embrace, a storm.
