Somewhere off a coast nobody named, a single chicken nugget waits between two rocks. The tide comes in. The tide goes out. The nugget remains.

It has watched ten thousand sunsets. It has been visited by gulls and ignored by them. It has thought about you, briefly, and then forgotten.

alone nugget is a small monument to the part of you that eats lunch by yourself, that scrolls past midnight, that keeps going for no particular reason. No roadmap. No promises. Just the nugget — still here, still alone, still warm.