The Rustle of Rain

I am unmoored when we lock eyes. There has to be a word for this strange surmise. The first word that comes to my mind: Why are you so hard to find? Images sometimes flow through my head. Small polaroids lying with you in your bed. You looked upon me with vibrant, warm eyes. I knew right then you were the beginning of my very demise. Flickers of your smile rain on me when I feel down. Ever since I have found you, I have forgotten how to frown. To know of an arc angel that exists right before me. To know that the world is not as bad as I thought it to be. You implore me. A desire as dangerous as capture of the heart. Why not stop now before it even starts? Maybe I should stop loving you, maybe I should run. But your warm embrace reminds me of the sun. Underneath your sun, I feel its rays, and I feel like I am burning yet somehow safe. I never knew I could feel that, only in your space. That is the word that comes to mind. It turns out you were not that hard to find. A word that has now branded my mind:

Love.