The morning unfurled itself like a soft watercolor painting, each hue delicate and deliberate. The sunlight crept through the gauzy curtains, dappling the room in patches of gold that shifted gently with the rhythm of the swaying leaves outside. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just me and the growing image before me.
My diary rested on my lap, its leather cover cool against my skin. The edges of its pages were slightly worn, a testimony to the many mornings it had witnessed my musings, my sketches, and my silent confessions. I ran my fingers over the edges of my diary then slowly flipped to a blank page. The pencil in my hand felt familiar.
Peering at the canvas of my heart, I exhaled a weary breath. I let my eyelids fall, seeking to unearth the tangled threads of that ev
