Sustain yourself with the clean-smelling petals as they wrap themselves into the night, scratching the starry horizon into constellations of want. I don't want to see forever, that's absurd, so: allow for a thick mist to settle, as if on schedule, a melted snowcap in mind now turned into a wall of fog to hide behind when the extroverts come to steal my energy. Reliant now on the tingling sense of the moon, I need it to predict my tides. The interconnected muscles in my chest float flashing moonlit bursts of my breath into the heavy spring air. I don't think I have hallucinated this street, this sidewalk, this hill, those trees, this comforting fog, but I have the strange sense I could have created them in the moment just before waking to allow for a walk into the introverted night.