It's three in the morning. The sky's unusually bright tonight and I'm not sure why the moon's glowing so loud. The smoke from my cigarette's dancing just past my face in little bends and curves. Every time, I always try to reach up and touch the weaves and wrap them around my fingers ...or just rip through them to try and confuse the pattern more... control it somehow. Constantly it's moving and changing, flipping and turning, and finally disintegrating into microscopic specks of ash. It's beautiful and seemingly chaotic to the naked eye, this little ballet of cloud. It bursts forth from flames, grows tall and performs for me... it dances and conforms to no shape in particular, completely unique but indistinguishable. And in just a second it's gone.

There's no wind out tonight. Shame. Everytime a gust of wind comes through, it's like it's just there for me alone. A little pat on the back, or a kiss on the forehead. It's electric. The field behind my house is quiet and still tonight. Quiet but for some crickets out in the distance and the creak of the bench underneath me everytime I switch legs. For a few hundred feet there's just blue-colored grass in need of a trim, and then deep shades of black where my eyesight gets bad and the treeline starts.

I close my eyes for a moment and try to ignore the physical sensations around me. I picture someone here next to me on this short wooden bench, fingertips rolling over the back of my right hand, reaching down over mine. There's a weight on my shoulder, padded with soft brown hair that looks shadowy black in the dark. My head falls to my right, resting on hers. Faintly, I can smell citrus shampoo and vanilla. And over the sound of crickets in the background, I can hear her breathing slowly... like she's the one dreaming me up. With my other hand, I reach up for a drag...

"I wish you'd give that up already", a whisper says.
"I'll quit tomorrow", I reply.

The tricks of light from the dim-lit stars make like a flicker and disappear behind the razer-thin pillows of clouds drifting under and above the moon. She picks up her fingers from mine and traces little figure-eights on the hairs of the back of my hand as I let out a sigh of smoke. We both look off into the nothing... that black horizon that used to be trees... now just the back of my eye-lids. And except for our breathing, there's no sound. Except for the moonlight and the blackness of nothing there's no sight. I can't taste anything but the ash on my lips, and save for pure dream and want of heart, there's no her beside me. There's just me and the creaky bench, and the grass in need of a trim, and the crickets making cries for a mate.

I flick what's left of the cigarette out into the night and take a breath of air. After a minute I slowly rise up and take one last glance out into the yard... out into the light that's too bright, illuminating my laziness to cut the grass. I turn away and look back towards the house. It's lit up in every room like a party waiting on hold... waiting for me to come back. I picture it filled with people I've never met, of every age and race, all together. I picture fire-side warmth and laughing louder than the music bleeding from every pore in the walls. I've never seen this house before, but ...it's inviting me in. All the love in the world's in there, tracing little eights on me and holding my arms and heavy head. Just as I make my way to the door, a breath of wind appears from behind me and kisses the back of my neck to make all the little hairs stand up. The grass blades start to waver and fold towards the house back and forth. As I slip one hand into my pocket, I reach with the other towards the door with the golden knob and push forward.