A kettle warming on a low flame, the kitchen window beginning to fog. The door of you opens softly, and people feel the room temperature change before they understand why. You arrive carrying weather: a mood, a memory, the residue of last night's dream. The face is permeable; the shoulders carry whoever sat with you last. Watch for the moment when porousness becomes erosion. The promise is that those who meet you remember the kitchen, not the small talk. Build a shoreline you can return to. Let some tides come in, others stay out.