This morning began with a pen on my table.
A small thing, yet it sparked words sharper than I wished.
I shifted it anyway, quietly,
and stepped into the day with a late breakfast.

I ran for the bus, breath chasing time.
At the crossing, a couple held hands,
their quiet bond a contrast to my hurried feet.
The red man flickered and I quickened,
choosing motion over stillness.
At the lift, a boy reached for the same seat.
“Excuse me,” I whispered.
He smiled, and turned away 
softness instead of struggle.
On the next bus, a hand signaled me aside,
a chill in the morning air.

When I arrived, a door opened 
someone letting me enter first,
a kindness like sunlight breaking through.
Elsewhere, voices rose in drama,
echoes of frustration and mimicry.
But amidst the noise, a friend remembered me 
buying my favorite snack to share later,
a gesture like petals carried by wind.
Another offered only a brief greeting,
then rested his head,
weighed down by unseen thoughts.

So the morning unfolded 
sakura and thorns, shadows and moonlight.
Between what pushed me away
and what quietly held me close,
I found small spaces of grace.