Writing Letters To My Love

Letter Twenty-two

My Love,

I have compared you and my emotions when it comes to you to a number of things. Though lately I find that I have nothing more to compare all of this to, I usually compare this to frequently changing things, for that is how I perceive you. Lately I have only written down very literal things, instead of figurative things. Tonight I want to try to write about you a little more figurative. I have thought about what comparison to use beforehand, maybe the ocean or chaos or, god knows what. When I finally decided to switch the laptop on and start writing I went to my room and a familiar sound floated through the atmosphere; rain. Instantly I thought of you, for you love the rain almost just as much as I do and I don't know, for some reason when it rains you always come to mind. That's when I knew; if ever you were anything other than yourself, then you would be rain.

If this totally sucks, please forgive me, for I haven't thought this through and I am extremely tired...

Okay, maybe tomorrow I'll try again, I am empty tonight. Sorry, My Love.

(Technically the words to be written in the near future will be "writing letters to My Love 23")

It has been a week since I wrote that last letter and ever since I have tried to formulate the words that would accurately compare you to the rain, but I still have no idea as to what I want to write.

Drizzles.
Raindrops Softly kissing my skin like the finest linen brushing over my body.
Washing over me with new beginnings contained in each drop,
Washing away every bad moment,
Every filthy aftermath contained in each of my memories,
Every trace of dirt left behind by stumping feet.
My clothes damp- the tiniest raindrops cling to my body
Like a child who clings to his mother.

Rain.
Parts and pieces of my hair form into one mass;
Hugging my head, comforting my sorrowful thoughts,
Wrapping around my throat, forcing my unsaid words to the surface.
My feet soak in the earthly rainwater as I numbly walk through the puddles,
Reminding me that the rain can be felt with every part of my body,
every part of my being,
Just as love is found in all that I am and aspire to be.
The rain rolls over my face, proving that not all touch is felt by hand.
In fact, touch by hand might just as be the most irrelevant.
The rain caresses my skin a thousand times softer,
Though I feel it a thousand times more intense.

Pouring.
My clothes cling to my body, leaving no space for air,
Suffocating me.
It becomes heavy and I begin to sag.
Every time the thunder sounds I yelp in fear and search for safety.
Every time the lighting appears I run in terror.
A hundred needles prickle my ice-cold feet.
Puddles become rivers, ferociously flowing in every direction
but my desired direction.
I can't swim.
It's hard to move with soaked clothes, weighing a ton,
Constantly pulling me towards the muddy ground.
Befouling all that was cleansed but a moment ago.

Floods.
My love, my intrigue, my desire, my passion,
My need to understand all that rain is-
Drowns me.
The fine line between raindrops, rain, pouring and floods
Must be treaded carefully.