The city wakes like a lazy cat stretching in gold.

Buildings yawn into the sky, their glass eyes dripping sunlight.

You step out, and the pavement smiles back, warm, melting a little under your shoes.

The air tastes like oranges, static, and a peel of daydreams.

Someone laughs in slow motion; pigeons do pirouettes held by invisible strings.

Every window is a mirror, and every mirror shows a different you, 
one humming, one spinning, one already halfway down the stairs, chasing the morning.

Traffic lights wink in rhythm, inviting you to wander here and there,

the world swaying to some tune only you seem to hear.

Somewhere between the beat and your heartbeat, you beep and boop your way along.

Coffee smells like adventure, like postcards and sunshine.

Fragrances drift from doorways, whispering come in, stay a while, live a little.

The streetlights, shy in daylight, wear halos like sleepy stars who forgot to go home.


You’re walking, yet you feel you may be floating, no, gliding, 

each step leaving ripples of sound, like sand softly echoing on itself.

They feel like tiny sparks, sunbursts chasing at your heels, trying to keep up.

And just when you think the moment can’t get brighter,

the sun leans in, peeks around a cloud, and
 kisses your face with the warmth of a mother,

like a friend you didn’t know you missed.


It whispers something you can’t quite understand,
can’t quite catch, 
but you smile anyway,

because whatever it was,

it felt like home.

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