The city exhales. Cracked sidewalks hum with stories nobody bothered to write down. Each step feels like it belongs to someone who came before, their weight still pressed into the concrete. I carry my doubts, but the skyline offers quiet comfort. Colors smear slowly across the night, soft edges of light reminding me that nothing stays dark forever. Shadows move, stretching and bending until they slip away. They never hold power for long. Smoke clears. Rain dries. We stumble, we get up, we move again. Street lamps surrender to daylight, and I start to believe dreams don’t die, they just hide, waiting for patience to call them forward. Even in alleys where silence feels sharp, where walls lean heavy with secrets, a single bloom will push through the crack. It waits for sun. It waits for time. I walk tired, but each scar I’ve carried glows like a lantern. Every bruise becomes a marker, showing me the path I almost lost. The current pulls me forward, steady and unseen. If I fall, let it be under a sky wide enough to remind me I still belong here. Shadows will always return, but so will sunrise. One does not exist without the other.
