nothing about the weather

She keeps telling me she wants to do it how she always does it; how she's used to.
She's shitty, always shitty but there's no fall to a little musical manipulation with this one. She's already comfortably writing to my choice of musical companionship.
Her words won't shy from her fathom, and I won't avoid listening to them. And finally, I hear an expression of wholesome exclusion; she has finally said goodbye.
She's still shitty but she'll be happy and she knows why, and she knows how. And she won't need a high volume of anything to pat her on the back.
Good on you, Steph.
I'm proud of you.
         You keep your green head up and keep looking where you're looking.