I washed myself in the rain. Though its cool tips tingled my bare skin, its pulse invigorated my heart. I wish to be one with the rain. I wish for its moisture to run in my veins. As I stand, arms open to embrace heaven's tears, I cannot help but feel enlightened. The sporadic patter of drops on my skin is like tiny shots of light, piercing the surface and reaching down to my core. I will stand in the rain a while more, though it may lead to my demise. I will embrace the cold rain with a warm heart, sacrificing myself as the host. It may grow in me. I will consume all of its power, every drop of crispness, until my warm, beating heart is lost in the ice.
Yes, I will be one with the rain, even if it kills me. Especially if it kills.
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