The clouds hang low and threaten rain, as that soft little ache tingles at the pit of that scar you left on this little here heart.
The back grows weary and slouches in defeat, as the first drops of water pitter patter over the roof.
Rain isn’t uncommon here, being tropical and all. Its really all about the seasons of sun and bouts of rain.
With that thought, I wonder about the duality of all things.
I wonder about how there’s heat and there’s cold. How there’s truth and lies. About how there is and now there isn’t. Beginnings and endings. Rainy and sunny. Seen and not seen. There and back again. Never and always. You and me.
The list goes on and on.
I relish the idea of not being entirely different from another person. To have the same likes, the same aspirations, the same thoughts and opinions.
There’s also having the same problems, and the same dysfunctions. To share in the same heartbreaks and the same cynical view of the world.
To share everything to the point of not being able to distinguish one from the other, for two to just share one name.
Ugh, the thought is too ideal again.
I’ve found I’ve been trying to dumb down my idealism in favor of a more realistic view of the world.
Its more of a self-preservation thing than eternally scarred thing.
But of course, these thoughts can only come from the question “Are we still friends?”