The officetel smells like smoke, but this time I don’t mind.

The lingering smell reminds me of how the view from my window looks at dusk, how on the tenth floor in any city in the world, the city lights shine brighter, as blue deepens to black, when you’re with someone you like. how comfortable silence can be when the company is good, how Piazzolla can melt the hardest knots of stress and cause two people who can’t speak to dance.

I never blessed my officetel apartment when I moved in. I never threw perfumed water towards its four corners or puffed a cigar while thanking my ancestors. But I feel like the bad spirits were purged and my home is now a place of renewal.