There’s warmth in raging fires,

In giddy adrenaline broiling in veins,

And passionate thrills under blackened skies.

But there’s also warmth in solitude,

In sinking your hands into something warm and compassionate,

In sipping from cups with curling steam and whipped cream.

There’s something warm and indulgent in living on the edge,

But there’s also something warm and indulgent

About doing nothing at all.