January listens after the glitter goes a ledger of small silences,
time turning its pages carefully.
Rooms exhale tinsel into the corners; breath counts the empty chairs,
echoes settling where laughter used to lean.
A single cup holds the unfinished light; steam rises like a thought unspoken, morning hesitates on the rim.
Hush lays its hand on the year, not to close it, but to steady it
teaching the heart how to begin quietly.
