You had said to me that you wanted to stop. You had said to me that you couldn’t handle it. These words became the hyperbole that repeated in my mind as often as the widely publicized Southern California storm of the decade.
As your voice thundered such terror, the sun disappeared and hid behind the clouds which enveloped the people below in shadows that forced a false sense of loss.
That’s the only word that could be used to describe the feeling I get when you said it.
“I stopped waiting for you when you said you were going to be late. I was mad hungry so I ate all the popcorn. Hashtag sorry not sorry. Now let’s watch the movie.”