Gazebo

The wind gently blows eastward, where you are tonight.

In my peripheral view, I look for you, thinking you are sitting far from where I am. Hopefully, the glass walls in front of me will at least reveal your silhouette. But you are not there.

I look behind me and find you. Three steps are all that separate us.

The wind gently blows eastward. I take a puff. I let the smoke escape, gently, from my lips to yours.