What Light Leaves Behind

Morning breaks into silver— the window holds entire skies, and we are small, still breathing.

Between the sound of birds and traffic, there is a silence that tastes like metal. The coffee cools. The light shifts.

We touch the ordinary with reverence, as if brightness could be kept in the hollow of our hands.

But the day moves through us like water through open fingers, and we learn again that nothing holds.

The dust settles on the sill— golden, inevitable, beautiful— and we watch it settle.