The real medicine

The window is open, and the curtain shifts just slightly, as if the morning is peeking in, asking permission. I slip out of bed before the house stirs, feeling the quiet stretch wide around me. The floor remains silent, maybe out of courtesy. I boil the tea water in the kitchen; it sounds oddly reassuring. I take the first sip eagerly.

This day will be used, not wasted. Outside, the sun isn’t yet fierce; it leans gently against rooftops and trees, still undecided about its power. I like it this way. I lace my shoes, not with hurry but with intention. The world is just beginning to warm, and so am I. The early hours are simple, unpolished, unforgettable.