When I was small, I loved the rain. 
Majestic chaos fell to the earth with each droplet.
I would watch spindly veins of water on my soft arms.
I would relish in the soft coldness of the clouds.
I would make believe that I could fly away.
Into the storm.
I could be the lightning. 
The thunder that rippled through my sheltered life.
Growing up molded me.
Time lifted the veil of wonder from my blue eyes.
I heard my laugh change. 
The childish tinkle has drifted from it.
I no longer hear wind chimes when I smile.
But some things never change.
When the clouds come,
I still feel like that little girl who could harness the elements.
The girl who stood outside
until the water turned her light hair into dark,
sopping wet vines.
So although my laugh doesn't ring in the same way,
my big eyes see the world for what it is,
and my skin is a little bit thicker,
I know, when the rain comes,
it will wash away the grown-up me,
if only for a little while.
And when the lightning strikes, I can fly away
with the girl I used to be.