I woke before the sky softened,
in a body that already felt like it had run a race.
Warm drinks, small routines, careful steps 
even the simple act of holding a spoon
slipped once, then recovered.
The morning moved forward anyway.
The bus was crowded,
voices brushing past like wind I could not hold.
There were moments that felt sharp,
like being seen too closely or misunderstood,
and I held my space the best I could,
quietly adjusting, quietly enduring.
Outside, the world felt fast 
wheels passing too near,
sounds louder than they needed to be.
So I held my phone a little tighter,
held myself a little steadier.
At work, the day unfolded in layers.
There were instructions,
waiting,
movement from place to place.
Hands busy with small tasks 
wiping, cutting, carrying, learning.
Some words came firm and heavy,
reminding me that not every space is gentle.
Still, I stayed.
There were moments of kindness too 
a shared task,
a small check-in,
a quiet presence beside me.
And there were moments that stung 
misunderstandings,
rules drawn sharply,
a warning that felt heavier than it looked.
I felt the weight of it.
Yet in the middle of everything,
someone else was hurting.
And without thinking too much,
I reached out,
held space,
walked beside them for a while.
Even on a difficult day,
my heart did not close.
The afternoon softened just a little,
with small, ordinary things 
a pencil borrowed,
a quiet activity,
time passing in pieces instead of waves.
Still, I kept a distance where I needed to,
learning that protecting my space
is also a form of strength.
By evening, I was tired in ways
that words do not fully explain.
There were small frustrations waiting at home,
things misplaced, things misunderstood 
but also a return to something familiar:
water, rest, routine.
A place to pause.
Today was not easy.
It was loud, uneven, and heavy in parts.
But I moved through it.
Not perfectly,
not without feeling 
but with quiet persistence.
And tonight, that is enough.
🌙✨