U r not the right storm for me

the first day, like anything somewhat romantic happened between us, there was a thunder storm going on. We were sitting there like, just watching it.

We were sitting there on his porch or inside, just watching the thunder storm come in.

You were a summer thunderstorm on my draught of golden sunshine days. Your rain and light show made me dance in ways I never had before, and oh how glorious it was. But it wasn’t until you left and I looked up, the fire was burning at my wildflowers, that I understood that

“you were not the right storm for me.”

Your rain did not quench my thirst, but how I danced. Swaying and leaping in new ways I never thought possible. Drenched, and with my eyes and arms turns toward the sky. I begged for more of the light show and beat and bone-hacking beat that were distracting me from the fire scorching my already parched wildflowers.

It wasn’t until you left, with me chasing after you, that I finally looked around and felt the depth of your destruction. And there I sat, soaked to the bone, in a smoldering field of wildflowers, trying to water the earth and bring them back to life with my tears that were locked somewhere deep within me.

As my wildflowers started to wilt, I looked around again and I realized that I was utterly alone.

So I took my flowers in my arms.

But as I touched them, they crumpled and turned down, disappearing the more I tried to hold onto them. Desperation, I finally plucked them, roots and all from the earth. I could no longer hold them.

I just ended up and sitting down and writing it one day. And it was perfect too cuz it was the very end of this notebook, and there was something that I tired to give myself that sense of closure.