Tired
of being a weather-based decision.
Tired
of being forecast-dependent love.

I am not
your winter plan.
Not your “maybe if it rains.”
Not your emotional parka—
pulled out for inconvenient seasons,
shrugged off
the moment the sun comes out.

That is not love.
That is
emotional minimum wage.

And I’m done.
Done getting underpaid
in affection.

From now on—
if love doesn’t come
with a pension plan,
a benefits package,
and paid fucking leave—
I don’t want it.
At.
All.