I’m a fan of rains, and I appreaciate thunderstorms.

How the sky let thunder trace its existence,

How sky seems to be like a wounded skin,

And how the sky pours up like it weeps.

I wonder what it feels to be struck by lightning,

To have life flash before your eyes,

To quickly experience significant moments in a short span,

And to feel alive as you take your last breath.

How poetic is it to die while it rains,

To have the sky cry for you,

To be assured you were cried for,

To hear the grieving of the storm.

How poetic is the rain?

How poetic is the storm?

Have you ever realized?

It is more than a storm.