When Morning Hasn’t Decided Yet
The world is still blue-grey, not night, not day —
that soft undecided hour where even the birds
wait to see what the light will do.
The kettle clicks. The window fogs.
And in the quiet before choosing, there is a feeling like
someone has just stepped into the room, though no footsteps were heard.
No rush. No reason to speak.
Just a gentle awareness of shared stillness —
two breaths settling into the same slow rhythm.
A leaf outside quivers on its stem —
not from wind, but from the weightless moment
before the sun remembers it must rise.
If the day ends in laughter — or in silence —
or in rain — it will not change this:
That there was a morning when the world
paused long enough
for two hearts to recognize each other
without needing to say a word.