Hiding In My Poetry: It Started With Rain.

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It started with rain.

It started with rain. Nights spent listening to the thunderstorm that was keeping you awake. Mornings spent drinking coffee sitting under the safety of the porch and reading words under grey clouds.

It started with things I love the most. It started and ended with an almost.

But almost is never enough.

The truth is, I don’t know if I hate the things I used to love most because of the memories they hold or if I love them more.

This is K, signing off.

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6 thoughts on “Hiding In My Poetry: It Started With Rain.

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