Worldwide, lightning strikes one hundred times a second.
It takes me about an hour to memorize a speech.
I think I’m forgetting what your smile looks like.
The odds of being hit by lightning each year are one in 70,000.
The first thing you notice when you’re struck is that your tongue starts popping.
I am not what you’d call a “nice person”.
Not speaking to someone anymore over a dumb argument feels exactly like being hit by lightning.
My malintent keeps popping out of mouth, keeps sliding off of my tongue.
The odds of being hit by lightning in your lifetime are one in 3,000.
Lightning is formed by hailstones hitting each other and making sparks.
It takes me about one second to apologize.
You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder for the past two weeks, and every time I brush past you I can see a little charge growing.
I still don’t think I’m in the wrong here.
This poem takes roughly a minute to read.
In that amount of time, almost six thousand lightning bolts hit the Earth.
And in that amount of time, I still haven’t said I’m sorry.