Nostalgia is the rain.
Nostalgia on the tires of car skidding by
dripping down fluorescent street signs.

Memory is a crack of thunder
natures acoustic drum
pounding away in my brain

and you were the lightning that lit my skies.
I feel like i didn't know you well enough, and in seconds you were glorious and gone.

So, life is like a storm;
an old downpour,
a familiar beat,
and so beautiful and bright
and disappears in seconds.

Because sometimes, the storm that everyone sees is not as treacherous as the rain that floods down spines and drowns brains.

So beautiful
but,
so, so gone.