Seven minutes past one on Thursday morning
I am standing outside. It is chilling.
Cigarette smoke mixing with warm breath
Until it seems there is a fire here.

Well there is.

You know, sometimes I miss the company.
Four months ago everything seemed so set,
So settled.
I thought I knew.
I thought I knew.
I think I know
now that thoughts are meaningless -
Mere imagination mixed with perception
Perhaps no one feels as I do.
Like-mindedness is trickery.
It is the manipulation of opinions and selective hearing
self-constructed for a chance at a sense
Of being not quite so alone...
But there is still something here
Still-standing:
Hope and knowledge and determination
Dragging us all to a better place.

At a worthier time we will all find degrees
of compatibility,
label these as love or lust or friendship
Or whatever we please.

Twenty-past one and I slide the door closed
Avoid pre-defined areas of thought
And stop musing.