A soft hissssssssssss was the only lead up to the chaos that ensued. 

The soul's darkness was like a fog in which you could easily get lost but that was as comforting as a lover's embrace. 

The past—the rose-colored white-bread version and the brutal, violent, hate-filled reality (both equally venomous)—still haunted America like a hacking cancerous cough that we pretended was just a tickle in the throat.

I saw their tears by the light of the fireworks. 

When would they realize innocence and emotionality weren't weaknesses but the deepest of virtues? 

Some days were big black holes that seemed to suck everything into the void. 

They got drunk in the graveyard and sang old Bauhaus songs and hoped their sadness-tinged love wouldn't die too soon.