I sit on the counter of my kitchen, at 11:30 pm waiting for the chicken I just pulled from the oven to settle before I finish making whatever it is my brain has decided to mash together this time. I listen to the frogs outside the window, and the remenants of the storm from earlier.
Though I’m alone I’m not lonely, and I find reassurance in my cosmic insignificance. Dinner is good, and life is okay.



















