A poem by Isabelle Sorrells

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Good company is like a good drug.

In it, one feels so elated,

As though nothing else matters outside of this moment,

And nothing could ruin it.

But then when it’s over

And present company departs

That solid moment of pure, naïve joy

Comes crashing down,

Buried beneath the weight of the burden of the real world.

And one wonders

Why bother with company at all –

If this is the price?

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