It's a weird feeling.
It's not every day this happens. When it does, it feels good. It's the weight of years of subconscious knowledge and unhappy denial suddenly taken off of your chest. Doing it, though, feels strange. You can't keep from smiling, and know that they don't know whether or laugh or cry either. You sit in your room for the rest of the night, wishing they had never left. You want to cry. You want to laugh. This isn't exactly how you thought it would go.
It's not exactly bad. In fact, it's probably very good. It's just so hard to interpret. What should you do? What should you say? What should you tell others to say? You want to see them, you want to hug them, you want them to tell you that everything's all right even though you already know that. You want to run, scream, fly into the sun, fling yourself into a storm of swirling ice. You want to lie in the grass with the sun caressing your eyelids. You want to sing with a golden tenor, and find a soprano to make the world melt with you.
You want to scream it from the top of the highest thing you can find--but somehow, that doesn't seem like a good idea.
It's not exactly bad. In fact, it's probably very good. It's just so hard to interpret. What should you do? What should you say? What should you tell others to say? You want to see them, you want to hug them, you want them to tell you that everything's all right even though you already know that. You want to run, scream, fly into the sun, fling yourself into a storm of swirling ice. You want to lie in the grass with the sun caressing your eyelids. You want to sing with a golden tenor, and find a soprano to make the world melt with you.
You want to scream it from the top of the highest thing you can find--but somehow, that doesn't seem like a good idea.