There will be twelve single birds. only twelve. Nikolai is the seventh bird in this collection.

there is a need for candles. I go two doors down and none. the wind is blowing out and out and all along my coat. with wet, cold cuffs returning. the closing door is everything I ever dreamed. I can see parts under shelf to make the same. it will not work. our smiling is the bright or so they say.

Making is its own cause. I curse at tape on fingertips. I curse at crossing cut too eager so I have to start again. by the time that I am done there will be sleep. and in the morning, no need. will find the tape and tiny losses in my hair and in my clothes. I will not go out. they say the weather is supposed to be better then. this will be a chance for my coat to dry.

Instead and for the sake of nothing at all, I will sit with Nikolai and be happy. the only reason for his here is mine, and conjured reasons to pretend, that I could put him on a shelf of other days.