Point A, Plan B

This poem is about trying to predict the future, and how you probably just have to give up some control.

Point A, Plan B

Katy Scott
2025

A strange choice, in the end.
There’s no real way to plan it.
You’ll try anyway but none of it will make sense
When the moment arrives.

Everyone leaves, in the end.
I won’t be the first, you won’t be the last.

So: What is your plan, for the end?
You have to keep following a line, either way.
How will you move away from Point A in your broken heart?
You’ll be in an unfamiliar landscape, wind-scoured and empty.
Can you make your way back to yourself?

You can try to arrange it.
Make that Plan B, and it might be a comfort
to know it’s there in the back of your mind.
But it’s the unlikeliest of scenarios.
Are you prepared to throw it all out?
Are you prepared to go it alone?

Don’t worry about me.
I won’t need much, in the end.
A cup of coffee,
a cold morning,
a pair of half-closed eyes.
The rest doesn’t matter. Point A, Plan B.

And as I have said before:
Seulette suis, et seulette ne veux pas être.
Sometimes those unlikely things can work themselves out
in the flow of time.