A QUIET DAY

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**A Quiet Day**

Not every day demands noise.

Today began without alarms, without urgency. The kind of morning where the light drips in through the curtains instead of bursting through. I stayed under the covers longer than usual, just listening. No car horns, no phone buzzing—just birds, distant and soft, like a memory.

I made coffee slowly, watching the steam curl like it had nowhere better to be. The world outside the window seemed to agree—people walked a little slower, the wind moved like it didn’t want to bother the trees.

There’s something sacred about days like this. When nothing extraordinary happens, and somehow, that’s what makes it feel rare. No grand achievements, no to-do lists with aggressive checkboxes. Just stillness.

I read a few pages from a book I’ve been neglecting. Sat by the window for a while and watched clouds shift shapes—silly, pointless shapes that reminded me how little we control, and how beautiful that can be.

By afternoon, I wrote a little. Not for work, not for a deadline. Just words. Honest ones. The kind that come when your mind isn’t sprinting in five directions.

And by evening, I realized something: I didn’t miss the noise. The notifications, the hustle, the constant “what’s next.” I didn’t need them today. Maybe not as often as I think.

It was just a quiet day. But it felt full. Maybe, in a strange way, it was exactly what I needed.