Into the Void, part deux

So I'm lying in my bed with the windows open, listening to the rain fall.  The TV is on, blatting nonsense, and my room is lit with a solitary lamp.  I like the dark.  I like the night.  I love thunderstorms and rain that dances on the roof.  The smell of the air right before a storm is crisp and tight and practically has texture.  The sound of it whistling through the trees is like a lover beckoning me deeper into the dark.  There's supposed to be a storm coming and I hope I've not been cheated.  For my name means night rain darkness and it is when nature converges at this point that I am what my name is.

I am prepared for the visit; my skin is soft and warm and fragrant, my breath sweet, my eyes clear and bright, and my body ripe with anticipation.  My hair fans out around my head in a glorious dark halo and I know my love can't resist me.


My lover whispers my name, sweet and low.  The touch of his hand is a cool breeze, made more potent by the darkness of the sky and the swelling raindrops that will soon come to earth.  When I let him touch me and lead me, I'm deep into the darkness and the dreams where my creative spirit is anchored.  It is here where I conceptualize and create and see the worlds beyond the one I live in under another name.  But that me isn't the true me; what comes up and out of that void is the real me.  Pure, untouched, fundamental...raw.

I'm waiting for the rain.  I need the thunder.  I require the storm.  If I am to take the hand of my lover, I need these things to happen.  There in the void, I feel images, stories, novellas, novels...words waiting for me.  I see them in my mind's eye; feel them in the darkness of my heart.  There is where my true love lies, brought to me by the storm.


I'm waiting for the rain...and I hear it now...