The morning began with absence—
the bread was gone,
a reminder that tomorrow’s sweetness
would arrive in the form of cake.
The house stirred too quickly.
Vacuum’s roar,
water rushing over tiled floors,
echoes of chores louder than my heartbeat.
I slipped out, missing one bus
and boarding another,
my path already altered.
At the interchange,
a man stepped aside into the station,
while another voice split the air—
a quarrel so sharp,
I startled into stillness.
I sought quiet in the restroom,
then descended stairs,
choosing distance,
placing space between myself
and a familiar figure.
A cyclist veered too close—
phone nearly lost—
but I shifted,
avoiding collision,
choosing survival in small movements.
On the shuttle,
I offered a hello.
Greetings passed,
one after another,
until we all gathered,
departing just as one more arrived.
And then—
the warmth of a word,
a simple morning greeting
addressed to me.
A fist bump,
a playful show of breakfast,
an almost-collision in the hallway.
These fragments stitched the morning
into something gentler.
Through all the noise and nearness,
I carried my silence like a shield,
strength not in shouting,
but in moving forward,
one step at a time.
✨ Even when mornings feel jagged,
I remind myself:
I can meet them with steady breath
and find quiet strength
to carry me into the day.
