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.