The Page that Wrote Itself

I didn’t come here to write, but the morning light had other ideas. It slipped across the table and landed on my notebook like an old friend tapping my shoulder.

The words came quietly at first — uncertain, city-worn — then loosened with each sip of coffee. The stillness here doesn’t demand; it invites. You start to remember your own voice.

Here, inspiration isn’t found. It finds you.