some days,

the sun doesn’t rise

so much as it remembers

to keep the sky from breaking.
i’ve seen things

that taught me how quickly

a world can turn to ash -
how quiet a room becomes

after goodbye.
but still,

there’s coffee,

warm in my hands

and a text from someone who remembers

the way i take it.

a dog on the street

too excited to walk in a straight line.

light catching in a window

like it’s laughing.
i’ve stopped hoping

for perfect days.

that’s not the right measure anyway.
but I count the small things:

a laugh, a deep breath,

a strangers greeting,
moments when joy

is the loudest thing in the room.
and if i can find

a part of each day

that feels like
something soft -

something almost like peace -

i’ll stay.