When it ended I wasn’t sure

what was next.

I didn’t know how to be cold

nostalgia a throw blanket.

A relationship that mattered

but didn’t last.

Not everything is about romance

and warm feelings, being seen,

heard, and listened to.

Sometimes we just look for proof

for the adjective: lovable.

And that’s not even bad,

but not the right way to go about it.

Leaving it up to someone else to is what’s the problem.

Mother, Father, lover, friend, it doesn’t matter.

There’s no putting a stop to natural disasters.

We can’t change conditions, they are what they are

and staring at the sky won’t change the

position of the stars.

Sometimes they’re wide awake

and sometimes they dream too.

Sometimes when I write the blood

ink is still blue.

Tears don’t mean much

not even noticed anymore.

I let the weather be

and I say “let” loosely.

The temperature outside

was never up to me.

Right now the cold breeze feels like reality

And water keeps rising but I can’t move my feet

What was once dirt had turned to

glue-like mud

Something told me to just bleed

Don’t try to get unstuck

It’ll all pass but I would never guess a number.

And as I wrote, the flood flowed cold

with inky blood.

And yet the wet sky blinked

with stars in deep slumber.