The cup in my hands hums faint,
Ceramic warmth whispering secrets of stillness.
Outside, the world is a blur of ghosts,
Figures flitting between the cracks of time—
Untouched, unnoticed.
I sit, suspended in a breath,
Each sip a slow unraveling of the clock’s thread.
Steam curls like ancient runes in the air,
And the street beyond—
A distant tide that never reaches the shore.