URBAN ECHOES

There is a place between waking and waiting,

where the sky doesn’t ask questions,

and the sidewalk still remembers your childhood name.

Dreams don’t float there — they walk,

in scuffed shoes, holding yesterday’s coffee cup,

whispering things like:

“You can still begin.”

Reality wears the bones of structure —

appointments, alarms, rent due by Monday.

But it carries softness too,

a folded note in the coat pocket:

“You once believed in something bright.”

Dreams are not the escape — they are the anchor.

They remind you that sidewalks are just sky in disguise,

flattened by footsteps, never erased.

To balance the two is to walk with one eye open and one eye closed,

to build with your hands while your heart still floats.

It is to say:

I am here.

But also — I am becoming.