The Girl. 

I’m supposed to hate you. For some reason I feel like we are the warm and cold front that causes storms. 

 I’m supposed to want to douse  your fire and watch you struggle to light and burn. I like how you burn. I am drawn to your fire and clearly never learn. 

You’re the girl I’m supposed to hate. Supposed to ruin and go wild with rage. Yet I’m pulled by your cold front and try to pull back. Too much of me and we will collide and fracture the sky. Why are we drawn in the same frame?

 I’m supposed to hate you. Society has always hated storms. They say to steer clear, hide from all their forms. 

Sailors can’t navigate a tempestuous sky. We learned the hard way and this is why…this is why I can’t hate you. 

Weather patterns that conflict with clear skies. The storm I can’t shake. The girl with the eyes. 


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