January looms—
    a page
    not yet turned,

    a promise not yet spoken aloud.

A suitcase waits in the corner,
    its empty belly
    hungry for the scent

    of someplace new—
        some place near you

Each passing day holds its breath.
    Time stretches thin,

    nights carry half-whispered dreams.

Memories not yet born
    tug softly
    like the hem of an old coat—

    familiar, but not quite known.

The calendar marks the pace:
    slow,
    deliberate,
    relentless.

Each tick of the clock
    a silent echo
    of a question asked

    but never fully answered.

What waits—
    on the other side of arrival?

    A rhythm unplayed,
    A melody of maybes.

The air feels different now.

Something stirs—
    tender,
    unspoken,

    humming just beneath the surface.

One more question,
    one more step,
    one more heartbeat—

    before the journey begins.