When I was young, I ran from thunder.
I hid in my mother's arms
Trying not to cry, during every storm.
But I had a secret.
When the rain first tapped against the window,
I stared at the sky, looking for lightning.
And when I found it I grinned, and the rain seemed to say 'hello'.
Gently, I tapped back, following every wet trail with my small, pudgy fingers when no one was watching.
It was only when the booming echo shook me that I retreated to stronger arms.

Eventually, I grew older, and the thunder no longer frightened me.
Or so I said, but when the first of the cold raindrops fell, I slid away.
Silently, I stared at the blurry windows, longing to breathe the cool, damp air;
To dance beneath a fire-lit sky with no reserve,
And to move to the music made of droplets pattering against the grass.
But there were too many reasons I couldn't,
Too many practical things that did not allow me to cross the unmarked boundary.
And so I stayed, under the hot, stifling roof.

Years passed, and age was forced upon me as the surrounding trees shrank.
I flinched at the even the gentlest raindrops and tried to shut illuminant flares out of my mind.
One day, the thunder came, booming and blaring as it always had.
And like the child I wished I was, I ran home.
But the house was empty, and no arms were left to console me.
I watched the rain cascade down the windows, harder and faster as my pain mounted,
Wishing I could grow brave enough to embrace the storm.