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Grayscale Morning
I wake to a silent alarm clock,
Time already running, not waiting for me,
Imperfect plans hanging in the air,
Like a prepared speech I never got to say.
The room transitions into grayscale,
Colors drained from yesterday’s certainty;
Even the walls feel more reflective now,
Holding names and bad choices I can’t erase.
I sip my cold morning tea slowly,
As if warmth might still come back somehow,
Numb fingertips tracing the edge of the cup,
Feeling both overwhelmed and strangely empty.
I don’t want to wait for clarity anymore,
For life to explain what it never will;
So I keep moving anyway, carrying it with me,
Learning, quietly, to live inside the question.
