I left my apartment windows open — I am wild that way — and the rainstorm ruined the place to teach me a lesson. I caulked the cracks in the plaster and found patches from before. I repainted the walls and noticed the hasty paint job; the corner’s curves giggled as I lay down the painter’s tape; my soul felt the healing of wet, tender bristles on the wood’s latex skin over cracks, bulges, bumps, and bends. This place was alive with getting put together and falling apart again. I beheld its incurable quaintness and brutal, undeniable charm. Forlorn, I came to understand I would only add my own mistakes. I lay in bed; the walls were mine. The apartment an awning of wilderness.