the sky looked like a painting and it wrecked you for an hour, not me. wreck is a strong word, isn't it? like a ship breaking open and all the ugly insides spilling out everywhere or maybe it’s just that everything feels so heightened right now and the edges are razor-sharp and i keep waiting to cut myself on them, but then beans rubs against my leg, purring, and for a second it's okay. but the okay is so fragile, like a soap bubble, the warmness is there, in the air, but that thing beneath, the fear, what if it’s NOT waiting to get worse?