A Small Sign for Tomorrow

She stands at the edge of the city in soft layers and borrowed warmth—

white boots against wet stone,

fringe and fabric catching what little light the night offers.

Not dressed for certainty, but for becoming.

 

Her fingers lift into a small, familiar sign.

Peace.

Not a demand. Not a promise.

Just a hope held briefly in the air.

 

Behind her, the water keeps moving.

The city keeps glowing.

And somewhere between the two, tomorrow waits—

quiet, unfinished, and still possible.

Done