journal

There's a particular quality to winter morning light that I can never quite capture. It comes in low and soft, almost horizontal, finding its way around curtains and through the gaps in blinds. Everything it touches becomes a little more itself.

Today I watched it move across the wall for twenty minutes. I didn't take a single photo. Sometimes looking is enough.

Went out in the rain without an umbrella. Not on purpose—I just forgot, and by the time I realized, it felt silly to go back.

The streets were empty except for other umbrella-less people. We nodded at each other, a small acknowledgment of our shared situation. The city looks different when you're slightly wet. More honest, maybe.

The new year began quietly. I made tea the same way I always do— slightly too strong, left to steep a minute too long. There's comfort in these small consistencies, the rituals we keep without thinking.

No resolutions this year. Just a quiet intention to keep looking, keep noticing, keep holding onto these ordinary moments before they slip away.