7am, Dusty Road, I'm Going To Drive Until It Burns My Bones (M83)

 [Definitely looks cooler when you zoom in. CLICK.]

I wish it would downpour, right at this very moment. I'm dying for a curtain of cool, liquid salvation. Cleansing the living, the incorporeal, the arid regions we hold within our heart. When will we learn to set ourselves free from the burdens of life, loss, and the grey areas in between? Let go. The storm--It reaches out, shakes us in our bones. We tremble underneath the bucketing rain, the westerly winds, the crackle of electric vitality. Suddenly, we are pocket-sized. We are vulnerable. We are enveloped in blankets of shivers and tossed to the elements, bodies yearning for warmth. You'll find yourself, lost but found, standing out in a downpour of H20 and uncertainty. Arms outstretched--water droplets cascading down your nose like a river, dancing on your eyelashes and on your cheekbones.  It's the way your exhalations echo through the deluge, the way your chest cavity's choking tremors fade to yield exultant breaths--how we begin to sterilize open wounds, revive. Lungs filled with fresh life--You close your eyes, droplets bouncing off your frame, colliding with open pores and gently falling down your skin.