slow healer
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Morning rain taps gently on the window. Coffee steams beside a laptop, while the neighbor's cat watches birds dart between the trees. Peaceful, yet so alive.
Plastic spoons clatter in a drawer, echoing childhood memories of cereal mornings under fluorescent kitchen lights.
Streetlights blink; raccoon scampers; city hums beneath silver drizzle.
Freshly brewed coffee often resembles morning resilience; steam curls like determination, urging action, while its aroma whispers promises of productivity.
Peeling oranges releases memories of childhood afternoons, sticky fingers, juice dribbling, laughter echoing, sunlit kitchens, and innocence wrapped in citrus fragrance.
Dusty keyboard clicks echo around the room; the cat judges my typos with a disdainful flick of her tail, eyes narrowing as if she could edit better.
Caffeine brews silently, steam twisting upwards, while sunlight filters through dusty windows, etching time onto forgotten books.