It's just simply, love.

We're stood in a forest. Just me and you. I have you in my arms, and for once you are smiling.
I look up, above your head and smell the air. "Storm's coming." I say calmly. You do not find this in the least bit strange, or odd or any other word that describes what I have just said. You simply stay where you are, even when the rain starts to pour. Every drop a liquid kiss on your bare shoulders. Thousands of tiny explosions around us, as the rain bounces off of leaves, and branches. Lightning tearing the thick, dark clouds above in two, and the thunder, shaking the ground beneath our feet. Still, you are not at all bothered.
Most people do not like this weather. They are scared of it. The loud noises and the depressingly dark sky, and the never ending rain. Not us though. It's pure pathetic fallacy. The strom, is the love we bare each other. Full of a roaring, furious passion. It is the polar opposite to Shakespeare's Tempest. It's just simply, love.