It looks like rain

Walking with you,
it is hard to think.
Looming, dark clouds,
they hang low overhead.
The air feels sticky
with humidity, and
heavy against my chest.
It is hard to breathe.

Speaking with you,
it is hard to listen.
No afternoon sunlight,
nothing illuminates us.
Smelling of earth, the breeze
makes chilly conversation,
but warms--when eyes meet.
You are hard to read.

Being with you,
it is hard to know.
Thunder rumbles far,
deep into the distance.
Fleeing birds race past
in curious formations,
beautiful, familiar, and afraid.
Waiting is the hardest.

Please let it rain.