The world has spun back to the light, and today, you are permitted to be softer, stronger, or entirely new.

Does a memory truly belong to the past, or is it always a product of the present moment?

The quietest beginning
is shaded in deep marine—
a silent cobalt promise
before the riot of the sun.
This is the moment the slate
is scrubbed perfectly clean.

The blueprint is the deepest blue:
A cool intention, unmarred and clean.
Before the foundation shifts,
Before the hammer finds the wall,
There is only the cyan promise
Of what has yet to be built at all.

The deep, slow blue of distance.

A slate wiped clean, indigo dust.
This new beginning is not loud, not sharp,
But the stillness after the last wave breaks.

It is where gravity forgets its hold,
And the air becomes only possible light.
A quiet covenant with the horizon.