Still Here

Coffee warms my hands.
Sunrise on dirty windows.
Birds won't shut up, and somehow I'm grateful.

I open the blinds.
Light creeps in like it's not sure it's welcome.
Dust motes drift through it, slow and purposeless and perfect.

Morning air through the crack I left open.
I breathe it in.
The city below is already forgetting last night.

I am still here.
The fire escape holds my weight again.
Rain from somewhere earlier still runs the glass.

I watch a droplet find its way down.
It doesn't hurry.
It doesn't stop.

I think about that.
About the things that keep moving without deciding to.
About me.

Beauty doesn't ask permission.
I let it in anyway.
Slowly.

Still here.

--Vera