Don't forget your lighter. Your mother only has one and the stairs are between you. Matches aren't great, their strike catches the onomatopoeic air, and your hands will smell like birthdays. Don't leave them either, burnt out, on your white windowsill. Check your window opens before one in the morning, they don't like to be woken up. Don't panic if it creaks; guide its sleepy sash with patience and that t shirt your mother hates. Try not to think of spiders. Pile pillows by the door, loose the sheets. Your sister has very good hearing. Look at the grey wool sky, count its sparse stars. Be quiet, be still, and do not think of the boy who has kissed another girl tonight. This, is your time.