It Stopped Being Weather and Became Climate (Companionate)

Lyrics

I don't check the forecast for you anymore. There was a time I did. Hung on every word. High pressure system, chance of storms. I remember July 26th, 1895. We had two bicycles instead of a feast. And the French countryside was the weather. The wind in our hair, the unexpected rain on the road to Sceaux. Every day was a new report. A sudden clearing, a flash of sun through the clouds. We were charting a new map. And the weather was everything. But it stopped being weather. It stopped being a squall on a Tuesday, a heatwave in August. It's not the lightning strike anymore. It's the air in this room. It's the pressure system we live inside now. It stopped being weather and it became the climate. Then came the years in that shed. The smell of chemicals on your coat. My hands, raw from the work. We didn't talk about love. We just passed the tools. We sat in the armchairs we painted ourselves. Shaped them to our bodies. The kitchen table holds the map of our lives in coffee stains and knife marks. Quiet Tuesday. Ordinary Wednesday. And it stopped being weather. It stopped being a squall on a Tuesday, a heatwave in August. It's not the lightning strike anymore. It's the air in this room. It's the pressure system we live inside now. It stopped being weather and it became the climate. They think the quiet means the fire is out. They want the hurricane, the drama of the downpour. They don't see the foundation. They don't feel the bedrock, laid stone by slow stone. This isn't a lack of feeling. It's just… a great friendship. The kind that gives value to survival. You’re across the room now, by the lamp. The pages of your book make the softest sound. I don't have to ask if you'll be here in the morning. I know the barometric pressure of your breathing. I know the climate. The air is warm. I can breathe.