I’ve always been more concerned with the collateral damage, 
The nostalgia that accompanies pain
Where the raindrops go after the rain
Wondered if knuckles get kissed after the fight
or if violence always gets to think its right
If the skin that tore got told that it wasn’t its fault
I wonder about the flaw in hand written letters
The shake behind each confession
I get stuck on first impressions
Obsessed with the fact that everyone is so their own
that no coughed up small talk could have shown