1.
Morning breaks in gold—
the city doesn’t know me,
yet it still begins.
2.
Steam rises from cracks,
just like breath after crying—
even streets exhale.
3.
One foot, then the next.
Sidewalks don’t care where I’ve been—
they carry me still.
4.
The park bench is warm.
Someone left their calm behind—
I sit, and it fits.
5.
A bird lands near me,
not afraid of how I shake—
its wings speak of trust.
6.
In line at the deli,
I smile without a reason—
someone smiles back, slow.
7.
Sunset through fire escapes—
light touches places I thought
nothing could reach now.
8.
Jazz spills from a stoop,
and for a full block I hum—
joy leaks back softly.
9.
Skate wheels in the park,
kids fall and get up laughing—
I take that lesson.
10.
The wind hugs gently,
no longer loud in my head—
just wind, doing wind.
11.
The bridge holds my weight,
stone by stone, like a promise—
I trust it. I cross.
12.
The mirror stays kind.
Not perfect, but patient now—
my gaze does not flinch.
13.
Midtown stares ahead.
I walk through without shrinking—
even shadows part.
14.
Ice cream at midnight,
on the curb near Tompkins Square—
it melts. I don’t.
15.
Books return to shelves,
each spine a steady whisper—
you’re still learning you.
16.
I write my own name—
slowly, like a soft refrain—
and it feels like mine.
17.
At the laundromat,
I fold shirts with care again—
rituals return.
18.
The barista knows
how I like my cup again—
this, too, is healing.
19.
A pigeon limps past—
it flies anyway, sideways—
so will I, one day.
20.
Soft rain on my coat,
not punishment or sorrow—
just weather, just sky.
21.
I no longer flinch
when the sirens slice the dark—
my breath stays steady.
22.
Old text, never sent—
I delete it, not with pain
but quiet relief.
23.
A tree in the Bronx
blooms from cracked cement—still proud.
Still green. Still rising.
24.
Hands no longer hide.
I wave at a friend downtown—
they see me. I stay.
25.
The city still moves.
And now, so do I—slower,
but in the right way.
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