Every storm runs out of rain

I used to have a huge storm inside, lightening striking from a deep grey cloud. The most striking part of the storm was the rain. Heavy sheets of water streaked through the sky. Rivers flooded, water levels rose, and people sprinted with newspapers covering their head as the rain soaked into the fine layers, wilting the paper and water dripping from the corners. Everyone thought the rain was the worse: the sopping shoes, constant gloom and puddles. Until the rain stopped amd simply dried out. And you can't have a storm with no rain. But the storm was the fuel. Everyone rejoiced when the storm went away, but what replaced it was exponentially worse. As the rain slowed to a sprinkle and the lightning began to subside, the storm clouds began to fade away, but there was no sunshine to replace it. Just pale grey clouds encompassing the sky. You could see no break or sliver in the sky. The grey sheet seemed to stretch on forever. And the misery that came with it, was a whole new level of anguish. There was nothing. No meaning, no flicker of emotion or light that used to once strike from rolling clouds. All sounds were muffled squeakes compared to the roaring thunder. And the rain, that once gave purpose and hustle, had evaporated away. There is no motive, no hurry, no passion. All drive disappeared with the rain. Now there is just fluid and endless stretch of misery. I am like the storm. Just like the storm, I used to have furvor, passion, and drive, but now my mind is an endless abyss, desperately waiting for a flicker of emotion--a flicker of a storm.