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.