Sitting on my balcony, in shorts and slippers. A large sweater wrapped and wrapped and wrapped around me, quilt across my legs. An old friend called blankets a hug without arms.

The sound of skateboards rises from the park, little chirps and wind rustling through naked branches.

This sunset too, as impressive as the exotic.

Quiet calm, the most reassuring of white noise.

'Blankets and matches, this pain in my chest. The best parts of lonely.'

Smoke haze from my fingers, hair piled on top of my head. A casual dizziness.