2AM.

Another cigarette out on the back doorstep in the middle on a freezing Melbourne evening. In this chill, it becomes difficult to tell where smoke ends and condensation begins. I shiver, wrap my free arm around myself a little tighter. The only light on in the house is my bedroom's, cutting through the darkness with a weak glow; the world is still and waiting for something - the sound of your voice riddled with interference, but still there, maybe. A notebook filled with scribble and half-thoughts, fragmented poetics. The perfect silence of the night begs to be cut through. I am patient and I wait for you to take me in.