She was a thirst quencher.
She met him when he was desperate for a drop of free water.
And he held his head back and he parted his chapped lips and she poured everything she had into him.
He filled his stomach to the brim with the sweetest water he’d ever tasted.
"I was lost in the desert but your water, it had brought me back from noting," he said. "I don’t think I’ll ever tire of the way you taste."
"Then drink," she replied and she poured every last drop into him.
He drank until his face was flushed and his stomach ached and she didn’t understand why, so she asked, “but darling, what’s the matter?”
"I think I’ve had enough of you," he said letting go of her fingers that he almost had to pry away.
"I thought you said you’d never tire of my rain?"
"But I’m not tired of your rain, I’m tired of your storm."
She wondered why she always give so much of herself to satisfy the thirst of others. Others who had no interest in the tangled passions of her soul that sometimes ignited into flaming light and bursts of thunder.
She has been so busy all her life adoring the desert for all the ways her rain would heal it, that she forgot there were oceans that would gladly welcome any amount of rain. And when she stormed, it would simply reply, “I’ve missed you, I’m ready.”