Losing myself in swaths of blankets underneath the angelic softness of a nearly full moon, I exhale dragon-smoke into the wet air, the condensation mingling with nothing but the humidity hanging low among the roots and fallen leaves, melting away into black sky and dragging itself away into the wind in small puffs
First through the windows, then echoing through the steel walls of a trailer tucked into another niche in the hills, was the sound of some monotone laugh track going on for seconds, perhaps minutes too long
I tilt my face away from the sound, feeling intrusive all of the sudden, as if I was leaning in a hallway, ear cocked to the next room, towards the most hushed conversation in the building
The silvery, fragile light of the moon wavers in my eyes, turning them the same shade of the walls of the trailer, even highlighting the flecks of orange rust typically hidden away inside the little crevices
The moon this particular night has the same pale quality as a certain creamy white journal paper, down to the grey imperfections patching it here and there, where a grey silvery ink splattered it, the accidental smudges and the deliberate lacey print decorating the pages speaking of many, many growing pains
Many soft childhood memories gleamed under the open night, inscribed in silver for permanece, until torn apart or burned to ashes
Many spiny, foul memories sunk into the paper, scratched in by the rough, rushed strokes of a clenched hand, stained on the skin until they faded, or until the end of life, wrinkling like a tattoo and stretching to accommodate older and baggier skin
Frost-bitten wind cuts into my cheeks, bringing the blood back up to be seen, hot and cherry like against a milky, chilled surface, a perfect cherry sunday, unmelted and unblemished by any cuts or spots of acne or even specklings of freckles
More dragon-smoke exhaled into the wind clouds in front of my nose for a moment, warming it before it was quickly taken away and dissipated into the night
The smoke continued appearing, dissipating, clouding together again, disappearing, in a cycle as sure and strong as a clock ticking at regular intervals
I could nearly feel my own breath settling over my eyes like a thin film of warmth
And so, protected from the bittersweet winds that stripped away heat elsewear on my body, they drooped lower and sliced away the silvery black sky until the moment I surrendered to sleep
