A Sliver of Sun

My eyes slowly blink open to the sound of my first alarm. I groan, turning it off, wanting nothing more than a few extra minutes. I shift onto my side, settling back in, and that’s when I see it– a sliver of sun, reaching its way through, stretching toward me.

Something in me ignites, and suddenly I’m walking toward the balcony. When I step outside, it looks as if the sky has been freshly painted. The air is crisp, carrying the smell of spring, and the birds sing loud for the first time in months.

I feel my shoulders drop, my head tilting back as I take it in. The breeze brushes through my hair, gently pushing it over my shoulder. The air is warm, but my arms are still chilled. I uncross them anyway, letting them fall to my sides.

The sun meets me fully now, bright and steady against my eyes. God… the sun. There’s nothing like it.

Most mornings, I go through five alarms before I consider getting up, and when I do, it’s a drag. I spend my mornings dreading the day instead of worshiping it. I reach for my phone, chasing that small hit of dopamine before my eyes are fully awake, counting down the hours until I have to work, thinking about what I’ll have for lunch.

Working a nine-to-five just to make a living gets rough, and all I ever want to do is sleep, even through moments like this, when the world is quietly calling me.

This time is different. The calmness invites me, and for the first time in a long time, I accept. I breathe in the new air, letting it settle deep in my lungs. I let my ears fully take in the birdsong, my eyes tracing the quiet beauty of the morning. For once, I allow myself to stay here, to exist in the stillness, instead of racing toward the next moment. The anxiety begins to loosen its grip, and with the help of the breeze, it slowly drifts away.

I stand there, eyes closed, breathing slowly—no thoughts, just stillness. The breeze is warm, just enough to send goosebumps across my skin, a gentle reminder that I am here.

This… this is the kind of morning I want more of.

When I open my eyes, the world has shifted from soft pinks and purples into a quiet blend of orange and blue. I watch it in awe, wondering how often I’ve rushed past moments like this—hurrying toward places I don’t want to be, when I could have stayed here instead.

Maybe I always had the time.

I turn to go back inside and realize my cat has been there the whole time. I step in and give him a few gentle pets, grounding myself in something warm and familiar. There’s no rush, no urgency pulling at me.

I take my time picking out an outfit, something a little softer, a little more me. I put together a lunch I’ll actually enjoy. I start a pot of coffee and let it brew while I tidy up small things around the house, things I would’ve ignored on any other morning.

Usually, I move with one goal: leave, arrive on time, and figure everything out later. But later never comes.

Maybe there was never anything waiting for me in later at all. Something in me softens, and for the first time in a while, I feel it, peace. It settles quietly, like a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The world doesn’t look different, but I do.

Or maybe… I’m just finally here.