the edge of something, maybe i'm on the edge of something, i keep thinking things are supposed to be one way but they're always another like rain in january it's not supposed to happen but it does anyway and you're left with this weird sticky mess like grief clinging to your skin even after the sun comes out, priya said i need to stop waiting for an ending, maybe this is just the middle part and middles are always messy and undefined and full of half-finished stories and lukewarm coffee and beans kneading my stomach like she’s saying it’s okay, it’s okay to be here, wherever here is, okay. it doesn’t FEEL okay. but okay, maybe that’s enough for now, just okay, and it’s not the avalanche i was waiting for, not the grand catastrophe, just quiet rain.