The kettle finished a few seconds before I noticed. That small silence after the click is, I think, the only kind of silence I trust in a city.
I poured the tea. The first light came through the curtain in a thin band across the table. I read one page of a book I have been pretending to finish for a year. The page was about patience. I laughed quietly, the kind of laugh that does not interrupt the morning.
That was the whole day, for a moment. I let it be enough.