Its been awhile since I’ve written anything.

You see, usually I begin with a metaphorical gesture,

Or a fragment too dramatic to be anything but the start of a stanza.


But today I write from my heart.


February I would have written from a withering organ, too rotted and infused with hatred

To see any color brighter than those

In shadows.


March would have dragged in the dreary whispers of emotional storm clouds

Brewing, overcast

But not breaking.


April showers broke overhead

And thunderstorms rattled about my body.

Sunshine only broke through when I met you,

Shedding bare light on the deepest of seeds

Lying dormant in frozen soil.


May might have only left us with a period of paused breath,


And nerve.

Anything was possible. Anyone could be where you should have been.

Sunlight streamed through clouds dark enough to portray the evening sky

At three pm.


It was June that shattered the dull grey surface;

It was June that caused the tidal waves of tears

Flooding the potholes with murky thoughts

And desperation hung like fog in the humidity.

But, at the end of every thunderstorm,

Beams of light kiss the earth’s saturated grass

And we smile.

You are my beam of light,

You are the end of my thunderstorm.


June would have been a hurricane

Without you.




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