Morning comes the way it should.
Not rushed. Not delayed. Just present.
I wake without urgency, eyes opening into pale light and the soft weight of a body that has learned how to sleep again. The room is cool. Still. The kind of quiet that does not feel like it is waiting for something to break it. I lie there for a moment longer than necessary, listening to nothing in particular, letting the simple fact of being awake settle without resistance.
No scanning the horizon from the inside out.
No instinctive reach for pressure.
No counting of breaths to make sure they are not interrupted.
Those habits are gone, or at least resting. I do not feel the absence as loss. It feels more like space left behind after something heavy has been set down.
From the kitchen comes the familiar sound of
