Where the Morning Waits for You

I woke to the scent of coffee and the sound of nothing. The light had already claimed the pillow beside me, unfolding slowly across the linen — golden, forgiving.

In the city, silence feels like something missing. Here, it feels like a gift. The bed is unmade, the sheets still holding the warmth of sleep, and I don’t rush to fix it. The world can wait. Morning is a language that only this place seems to speak.

Stay where time softens, and mornings meet you halfway.