Every day seems to start the same, but somehow it never feels exactly the same.
The morning begins with the soft chime of my alarm too early for my liking, but just in time to catch the first light through the curtains. A warm cup of coffee (or two) sets the tone. I take those first few sips slowly, like a quiet conversation with myself before the noise of the day begins.
The hours that follow are a mix of work, errands, and small, unexpected moments a neighbor waving from across the street, the smell of fresh bread from the bakery I pass, the cat deciding my keyboard is the best place to nap.
By evening, the pace slows. I might cook something simple, watch a show I’ve been meaning to catch up on, or just sit and let my thoughts wander. And even though nothing “big” happened, I go to bed feeling like these little fragments the light, the coffee, the small encounters are what make life feel full.
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