The morning spills through the cracked window,
soft gold brushing against tired skin.
Eyes blink open—not heavy, not lost,
but lighter, as if the night
left with the smoke of yesterday.
No rush, no dread—just breath.
A stretch, a pause, the quiet hum
of a world still turning,
and for the first time in a while,
he wants to turn with it.
The phone buzzes. A name on the screen—
Dad.
He hesitates, then answers.
A familiar voice, steady, warm.
"Son, I just wanted to say... I believe in you."
A lump in his throat,
not of sadness, but something softer—
a thread pulling him back home,
back to himself.
He stands, looks in the mirror.
Not a lost boy, not a failure—
just a man, still walking, still trying.
The city hums as he steps out,
the weight of yesterday left behind.
A crisp shirt, a quiet smile,
the rhythm of feet moving forward.
A new day.
A new fight.
And this time,
he knows he’s not alone.
