Pouring over my skyward face.
Beautiful.
Drenching my shirt. My bra.
Sticking to my skin.
Pants. Underwear. Pasted on.
Somewhat uncomfortable.
Cleansing, erasing that feeling.
At one with water.
With life.
With body.
Soul.
Mind.
My subconscious self.
Barely noticing the beautiful body beside me.
The heaving, breathing, constant presence.
Connecting with my soaked being.
Bringing me towards a pure state.
One I have never been in before.
A feeling I could remain here for eternity.
No need for food.
Surrounded by hydration.
Untouchable by the outside.
Man, life, reality, all kept at bay by this power.
Not one fiber of my being worrying if or when this might end.
That reality is not possible.
It does not exist here.
Those thoughts are not in my brain.
They are not being pushed away.
They simply are not there.

I am surrounded by buildings now.
Ugly, dirty, sad structures.
External walls half-soaked.
Creating patterns.
More depression.
Can a city be depressed?
Mine is.
Maybe just this part is.
It feels as if the whole city is.
Crushing me.
Hampering my breathing.
Making me nervous.
I am unsure why.
I glance cautiously around.
A claustrophobic feeling is rising in me.
The seconds tick by.
The trees are bare.
There is no wind.
Animation may alleviate the unease.
Indicate life.
Not the emptiness I find myself in.
Even the people around me are barely moving.
No smiling. No frowning. Just existing.
It is mild for this time of year.
Rain replacing snow.
In snow, my clothes would not feel slick against my skin.
In rain, they bite me.
Itching, tingling, aching.
There is no harmony with nature.
No losing myself.
Completely open and vulnerable.
Miserable.
Not a mist.
More a ‘steady’ rain.
Attempting to push me into the ground.
It does not flow over my skin.
It pounds every inch of my external being.
Leaving me dejected.
After that initial fear has passed.
The realization I will be here for some time.
There is no escape in sight.
Just this non-life.

Walking along the path.
The beauty I grew up in.
I am mesmerized even now.
Years of being here.
Rarely. Constantly. Always in mind.
Never tiring.
Where I talk of, when asked about my home.
Here, not there.
So far away.
My mind always comes back.
Looking across the bay.
The sun. The clear sky. The sea – bright and sparkling.
My beautiful, imperfect, city below.
It stops my heart.
Today is different.Emotions not as strong?
Emotions stronger?
Perhaps just different.
The drizzle surrounds me.
Part mist.
It coats my clothes but does not permeate to my flesh.
Closing my eyes.
Inhaling deeply.
In through my nose.
Filling myself with my place.
Surrounded by translucent air.
I see the path.
The bushes.
My city is out of reach.
Knowing it is out there is enough.
This is a different type of special.
Disparate, yet equal.
Slowly I twirl.
Cautious, yet free.
I am here.
Here is me.

Unrelenting yet periodic throughout the day.
Bursting. Banging. Crashing.
An auditory spectacle.
Green skies.
Trees assaulted by powerful gusts.
Brief periods of calm between the onslaughts.
The intermittent approaches.
Each pass. Each new round.
An explosion of light and sound.
That ear-splitting cacophony.
Shaking my desk, the walls, the building.
Fright turning to laughter.
No real fear.
A small shock.
Shocks – over and over.
Expected yet abrupt.
Night descends.
The waves continue.
Calm / Insane.
Peace / Turmoil.
Anticipation / Awe.
Over and over.
Opening the door to my high above the city.
Sitting on my favorite chair.
Claiming my wide vista.
Watching the Earth’s angry, fascinating, show.
Lightning productions announcing nature’s impending edict.
Nature’s allure.
The storms roll in.
Eventually.
Above my head.
Brilliant forks fracture the sky.
Booming. Roaring. Deafening.
My mouth curves upwards at its corners.
Slightly.
My eyes widen.
My breath held.
I could never tire of this.
Magical, natural wonder.
My soul fed, by something I did not know it lacked.
Somewhat unsettling.
Standing by a cliff-edge.
Knowing I am safe.
Yet vertigo tries to infer otherwise.
Opening the door.
Fresh air swirls.
Stepping forward.
Vertigo, again trying to tip the scales in her favor.
Sitting.
Feeling more steady.
This is life.
This is living.
Almost spiritual.
The waves pass overhead.
Recede.
Travel towards the next site on their course.
Reality is edging its way back in.
The ebbing of fear and awe.
Elation at what I’ve tasted with all senses.
Disappointment that it is over.
The rain eases up.
It disappears.
I am left confused.
Who am I?
What do I want?
Crave?
Need?
An near-existential experience.
I question all.
That fades too.
My pondering of life.
I retire early tonight.
My completely dark room.
No flashing.
No vibrating/shaking/rumbling.
No sensations of freeing, warm, waterfalls.
Depressing, soaking, chilling misery.
No mist.
No drizzle.
No rain.
I am dry.
I am home.
I am safe.
I am just a human.
Merely me.
Like everyone else.
Rain is rain.
I am me.

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