Interstitial

Between the horns and voices, a pigeon lands on a fire escape, feet clicking metal like coins counting nothing.

The sun moves through a coffee cup, refracting gold onto someone's reading hands— a stranger's small eternity before the barista calls their name.

In the subway's underground breath, a child traces the map with their finger, each colored line a story they will never ride.

The space between heartbeats is where the city rests, exhales what it could not hold, becomes beautiful in its forgetting.