I can smell winter.
The scent fades with the ray of sunlight, bringing with it the hope of another spring.
I take a sip from the lid of my thermos. I turn the page. I listen for the next song. I kick off my shoes. I chew on my snack.
This is all I need right now — a book, some tea, music, and a bar of chocolate — on the roof of my building, making my own kind of silence.
I look up. The buildings red like rust, the television antennas like fishbones, the roof vent like a royal crowns.
Then I realize, for the first time in two and a half years, I’m happy.
Because I love.
And am loved.