There is a specific, quiet moment every morning right after the kettle finishes boiling - a brief pause before the water hits the grounds. For months, it has just been a mechanical step in a sleepy routine, something done entirely on autopilot while waiting for the day to force itself awake. Today, instead of reaching immediately for my phone or checking notifications, I just stood there. I watched the steam curl upward against the kitchen tile, catching a pale sliver of early morning light. The sound of the kitchen had shifted from the loud rumble of heating water to absolute silence, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator in the background. It was a small, entirely unremarkable gap in time, lasting maybe ten seconds at most. But stepping into that gap rather than rushing past it made the rest of the morning feel deliberate. We spend so much energy looking for major milestones, forgetting that peace usually sits in these tiny, unscripted pauses right under our noses.

Tired of giving all my time, I dream of a place that’s only mine. Far away from every plea, Where I can just be me.