It didn’t matter who was with you, your humor lingered in the air with that “ain’t got no troubles, babe,” the kind of laugh that showered the dusty, flat pubs with light. Still, our timing was never right. Was it? When you were abroad, I was home stuck with the feeling of the red-hot Georgia heat trickling over my neck as it slowly rolled right down my spine. When you were single, I was tied down to that loud burly guy or the other one who seemed too clingy, jealous so we stayed blind. It’s easy to remain blind, isn’t it? It’s easy to roam the streets with one’s feet barely touching the ground, a bit empty while the sun continues to shine day after day after day stinging the flesh until a heavy rain rolls in to wash it away.
But the lightning, the thing is, all the lightning above us and around, seems to remain.