New Hopes

You woke up before the sun today, and the house was quiet in a way that felt like permission.
Not the kind you ask for. The kind that just shows up when you’ve stopped asking.
There’s a version of you still carrying last year’s plans like luggage you forgot to unpack.
Set it down. Not forever — just long enough to see what you’re actually holding.
The coffee’s still warm. The road’s still there. And whatever you were afraid of has been waiting so long it might have forgotten why.