I thought that if I were to self-distruct, I would become desirable again. Everybody knows that we only grow to appreciate things when they’re broken, gone or unattainable and I aimed to be all three. I couldn’t write for months, my mind starved of stimulation and ecstasy. My words became generic, much like the life I led. Recycled emotions, forced responses to keep the peace, an act so fake and put on that even Stevie Wonder could see right through me. I longed to feel again, to carry the burden of a broken heart, I needed to know that I was still human. You see, everybody thinks that being in love is a guaranteed lifetime of pure bliss, but you spend so much time with your head in the clouds that you forget how to find your way back down. So I created a storm so that the rain could take me home and as you whispered “…I’ll prove it to you”, the sky was clear again.