The day loads with a shimmer—
    an overlay floating
    half an inch above everything.

Street names wear halos,
       crosswalks hum faint chords,
       and the coffee steam scrolls coordinates…

       33°44'56.4" N 84°23'16.7" W
       (I know what they point to)

Every object gets a soft label:
      ◦ suitcase—talismans inside
      ◦ ticket—a spell of permission
      ◦ door—a portal; do not hesitate

Time itself acquires a progress bar,
     inching right in pixel-light,
     and each percent gained

     increases fever by 1°.

I speak your name
  and the room brightens by half a stop,
  color grading for joy—

  even the shadows fold neatly, like origami rain.

Distance glitches.

You step between frames,
    haloed by artifacts of morning,
    the kind of glow no camera could fake.

In this build of Monday,
   breath is a shared resource—

I exhale and the air learns your cadence—
  you inhale and your pulse picks up my metronome.

Footsteps leave little annotations…
                        hurry here,
                      breathe here,
              trust this left turn.

The map keeps asking
    if I want the fastest route. (yes)

I pin your smile to the horizon
  and everything snaps to grid—

The sky aligns,
    clouds comply,
    the whole town rotates

    a few degrees toward arrival.

Text bubbles float like fireflies,
           each one a soft prompt—
                          *gate?*
                       *on time?*
                        *almost?*

I tap *almost* and the letters feather out,
  landing on the morning

  like small birds who know where home is.

A portal opens in the window glass—
                       not fantasy,
                      just clarity.

I see the kiss as a set of coordinates,
       two hearts syncing their clocks
                      to civilian time.

The world’s UI gets simple:
                    PACKED ✅
                CHECKED IN ✅
               AVA WAKING… PENDING

                   LAUNCH: WHEN READY

And beneath the overlays,
     the real stays real—
       keys on the table,
        boots by the mat,
    my hands not shaking. (just wanting to)

Today the airport is an incantation,
         the runway a silver ribbon
     unspooling toward your doorway.

Every taxi light belongs to us,
      every mile merely a fold in paper.

I’ll step through
     when the button turns green,
     and the overlay will peel away
     like a blessing finished.

What remains—
     your arms,
     their ordinary miracle,

     and a room that recognizes me without the filter.

Dreamscape ends,
           heartbeat continues—
                    and Monday,
              augmented or not,
 lands exactly where it should…

             inside your hello.