A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
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?
Words Worth While 