Threshold

The light learns to break itself into smaller, more honest pieces— how the morning finds the cracks we didn't know we'd made.

A coffee cup cools on the counter. Outside, someone's dog learns to bark again, as if the world needs proof that anything is still awake.

I've been thinking about water lately, how it doesn't fight the stone, just speaks to it every day until something finally changes.

The light is different now. Not softer. Not kinder. Just true.