The thing is, they never tell you when it’s gonna hit you. I still smell you in every cup of coffee. I feel you on the soft leather backs of book bindings and in the wind from time to time. I wonder if you know how many days I spent just trying to survive in your aftermath or how I still feel alone in crowds of people. I wonder if you know how art brought to life the pieces you left dead inside me. The thing is, they never tell you when it’s gonna hit you; they never tell you how it’s gonna leave you,either. They never tell you how hard it is to get close again, and they never tell you how many people you’ll be “too much” for when you actually do get close. They never told me about you, but I saw your rainbow before your rain and made the mistake of dancing in your storm.
-written by Isaac Wright