I suppose cliches happen for a reason.
Like they are relateable. Like they happen time and time again.
So here I am being predictable and cliche, writing about grass being green. Usually when it is on the other side.
Once it is gone, I miss it. For years, it was watching over my shoulder…pushing me to pull me closer. And I resented it. I was fearful of it. I repeatedly held back, pushing it away. And now, all I want in the world is to hold it so tight and never let it go.
And now that it is gone I miss it. I only appreciate it now that it is gone. What a damn cliche.
“The reason that clichés become clichés is that they are the hammers and screwdrivers in the toolbox of communication.”