First Thunderstorm of Spring


The melancholy overcast of the week grew old
Before it even began to hide the sun.
A thunderstorm to end it all
Shocks me out of my rut,
Reminding me that this too shall pass:
Old words ringing in my ears.
But it's over.
And I'm over it.
I've already accepted your apologies a hundred times.
I'm merely waiting for you to let them slip from your lips,
Dipped in regret and wrapped in affection,
And to catch them before you can keep them locked up forever.
But it's over.
And I'm over it.
I don't need your apology
Because you're forgiven.
And much like the overcast
And the thunderstorm
And your apologies
It will pass.
It will be over.
I will be over it.

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