You can bake and I will only be there when you are lonely. When it's finally dark and you open the windows and the wind pulls out those last scents of iced cakes and muffins and comfort and you feel empty I will be there. We'll leave the fan on while it rains and let the hum and drips embrace us, swallowed in soft sheets and down comforters and our bodies will keep us from the night's chill. The spindles of sun and smell of fresh bread will wake you, you will be alone again. But never lonely.

Oh goodness, you are such the perfect stranger.