There's a smell, that rolls in with the budding dogwoods and the billowing thunderheads of Spring.
It says "I am familiar. Have you ever heard of Deja Vu? She is my sister."
Imagine if the creatures that live in the wood could speak the prophecies of the coming season.
They say "Listen to the rain in all of its glittering brokenness. It knows more about falling than anyone else."
You and I could lay in the grass for hours and let the smell seep into our pounding hearts and still, I couldn't memorize why you ever fell out of love with me.
Maybe the rain does.