For a while, there is nothing to decide. The weather has given us permission to stay. We let the hours pass without asking anything of them, and slowly feel ourselves arrive.
Perhaps this is how shelter becomes something we can feel. The nearness of all that moves beyond our reach gives warmth a depth, makes the room feel held.
Hong Kong carries its pulse into the storm, where raw force meets motion. The city, close enough to become a part of the room. We belong to it without keeping pace.
The night grows restless. We feel it through the walls, a faint tremor passing into the stillness. Even the body seems to know it can rest.
