I want the rain that came four years ago. A rain that saturated my home in the springtime, leaving me damp for weeks. A rain that vanished by the time May came, leaving a waking world in it's path. A rain that brought the most lively summer I can remember, the last good omen before I was thrown far from my universe.
I want the rain that catches me when I'm outside, spiking through me without drawing any blood. A rain that leaves me feeling cold-warm as soon as I'm drenched. I want the drizzle to start as I make my way home in the night, appearing first in my headlights. I want to get home and sit at my window and watch lightening rip the sky wide open. I want to fall asleep with dreams of his hair sticking to the back of his neck in the downpour.
The drought, the drought! They won't stop talking about the drought. The drought killed the corn and shrunk the lake and confused the geese and scared the people but so far, I know nothing of the drought.
I'm still dancing in the nights from four years ago, barefoot, screaming over the thunder.
There has been no drought since.