I am a rock

Sitting on his balcony. Wrapped up in three layers of fleece. We're sitting on the floor, hiding from the icy winds. In front of us, a sea of candles. My throat is sore, too much smoke has passed down there the latest hours. His fingers are too cold to play the guitar, mine to cold to handle le tire-bouchon. Next to us, a bowl filled with hot water - no one likes the red too cold..

His silhouette in the light of the playful flames, with a curtain of smoke. Like a dragon, silver smoke sips through his nostrils. Warm breath, glittering eyes. I like solitude. But tonight, I am glad not to be alone. For the first time, I think I appreciate him the way I should. A rock to depend on.