The Sun Rises Anyway

The morning light is gray, just barely holding back the dark. You stood in the aisle and reached for the same bag you always buy, the one that filled the kitchen with a specific kind of warmth.

It was not until the checkout line, with the scanner beep echoing in the silence, that you remembered: there is no one left to share it with. The habit was stronger than the grief.

But look — the sun is rising anyway. The light did not wait for you to be ready.

It did not wait for the house to be full. It simply arrived, spilling across the floor where their chair used to be.

You made it through the night. That is enough.

The light is here, waiting for you to pour a single cup and breathe.