The Morning I Forgot the End of the World

I didn’t scroll through the static tides Didn’t chase ghosts in the

light of a screen

The kettle sighed like a cradle song And the rye bread cracked

like it knew my name

(You woke slow) (You breathed deep)

And the sky didn’t ask me to prove myself And the sun

rose without negotiation (Still here) (Still whole) The mirror didn’t blink,

didn’t mock or flatter It just showed a face that learned to

stay I smiled—not for perfect skin or symmetry But for the storm

that didn’t have its way

(You made it) (We made it) (Still here) (Still breathing)

The jam on toast bled like a late spring thaw And the

floor felt warm under northern feet

No alarm, no tremor in the tea leaves Just the silence that

knows when to speak (You let go) (Of what hurt)

And the walls no longer counted my failures They held the hush

like a cathedral’s breath (Still calm) (Still gold) The mirror didn’t ask

for penance or praise It just held me like a memory I

could keep I smiled—not for answers or assurance But for the quiet

where I found my sleep (Still whole) (We’re whole) (Still light) (Still

known) The mirror didn’t blink,

didn’t need to try It just showed a soul learning to be

I smiled—not because I conquered the tide But because the tide no

longer conquered me (You’re free now) (So

breathe now) (Still here) (Still here)