Goodmorning
I've woken with the sting of cold, fresh air.
Pale light glides through my windows, and illuminates the very breath I take. It's quiet enough that I can still think. Each thought I have recorded, in my own head. Sometimes it grows so silent that I observe the ringing in my ears.  When I think, and I hear, and I feel, all at once I recieve a slight feeling, a sense that comes in waves. It's a good one. This is calm. But it is lonely.