a forest of small things

-rain-

rain

droplets of crystals

liquid glass

nostalgia pouring from the clouds

light bulbs that don't shine, but glisten

forgotten memories that have been born anew

the slight sound as it hits the ground

brings back memories of an old pet

her spirit merged with the clouds

the clatter of a tin roof

sounds unmistakably like the old typewriter

your grandfather used to use

the drops tell his tale

the rain falls onto the walls, the roofs, the streets

painting portraits of memories that you thought you'd forgotten

painting without color

but somehow managing to make the world more colorful

thunder booms almost as loudly as you shouted with your friends

crashes like your laughter

the lightning shatters the sky like a first kiss

the pouring rain is made up of crystalline and silver

and your smiling past

your wild exploration

your fierce happiness and nostalgia and everything else

the rain is beautiful

the rain is us.