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.

The cigarette burns low between my lips,
flickering like a dying star.
I have nothing—no job, no purpose,
just weary feet and a mind too loud.

Then I see him—
a man, old, bent by time,
struggling with a bag too heavy
for hands that once built dreams.

For a moment, I hesitate—
what can I offer when my own pockets are empty?
But hands are not meant just to take,
so I lift the weight from his shoulders,
feel its burden shift onto mine.

He looks up, eyes filled with something unspoken,
a silent gratitude heavier than gold.
No applause, no grand reward—
just the quiet knowing
that sometimes, heroes walk unseen.

I drop my cigarette,
watch it fade into the dust.
For the first time in a while,
I don’t feel empty.

I feel enough.

The match trembles between my fingers,
a silent war in a room too still.
Smoke or breath—what matters now?
The weight of nothingness, the weight of her.

She lingers like an unfinished line,
half a whisper, half a wound.
A memory blurred at the edges,
but sharp enough to cut through the dark.

Did she ever love me, or just the idea?
A boy with dreams too heavy to hold,
an engineer of castles in air,
a builder of futures that never came.

Outside, the night hums with indifference.
Inside, I weigh the lighter’s click
against the echo of her voice—
soft, pleading, unbearably distant.

I could fade with the smoke,
or chase the sun she once pointed to.
Between life and her,
I choose to breathe.