What’s The Forecast

When Love Was Weather, I Became a Forecast.

When love isn’t steady, you stop being a child.

You become a scanner.

You learn the sound of footsteps.

The weight of a sigh.

The way a cup hits the table.

The temperature in a room before a word is spoken.

Not because you’re “sensitive.”

Because you’re trained.

In that house, love wasn’t love.

It was permission.

It was mood.

It was conditions.

So I adapted.

I got good.

I got quiet.

I got useful.

I got ready.

And later, people called it “maturity.”

They called it “strength.”

They called it “being the calm one.”

But it was a skill I learned to survive.

Now I’m learning something else:

Love isn’t weather.

And I don’t have to be the forecast anymore.

Phoenix Field:

Presence over performance.

Here is enough.