Before Sunrise
Black tea boils on the stove, a blue flame breathing heat under the stainless steel pot — it sounds like a whisper in the quiet morning. With each step through the kitchen, the wooden floor creaks frankly, as though it’s too early to be woken, and it wants me to know. I walk gentler to the fridge, opening it slowly to find the almond milk. Holding a glass mug, I politely leave the room, letting it go back to sleep until the sun comes up.
