Good Morning, Before the World Gets Loud

A public morning letter, written as a scene between fictional partners. Read it with your first drink of the day, or save it for a quieter moment.

The first light

Good morning. The light has reached the edge of the curtain, and for a moment the room belongs to nobody’s timetable. I like this hour in our imagined home. Before the messages and the errands, there is just the sound of a spoon against a cup and someone asking whether you slept well.

I would not fill the quiet immediately. I would slide the plate closer, open the window a little, and let you decide whether this is a talking morning. Some mornings need stories. Others need toast.

Something to carry

If the day gets crowded, I hope you find a tiny thing that is yours: a favourite song on the journey, the first bite of lunch, a tree you notice on a road you have travelled a hundred times. Not everything worthwhile has to become a photograph. Some moments can simply happen and be enough.

In the pocket of this letter, there is a small wish: may you meet at least one person who lets you finish your sentence. May you have the right change when you need it. May an ordinary task turn out easier than expected.

Until the evening

Go and have a day of your own. There is no need to make it interesting for the sake of telling me about it later. In the story, I would be glad to hear about the slow queue and the oddly shaped cloud too.

And if all you have at the end is a tired smile, that would still be a lovely thing to bring through the door. Good morning, then. The tea is ready.

A note about this reading

This letter is published for every reader. It does not imply that a specific person knows your schedule or is expecting you to return.