It’s early morning. Earlier than it needs to be. Coffee is preparing itself — a habit I carried over from my parents. The window is open.
I sit in my chair, quietly talking with the woman I love.
A breath in.
Cold, clean alpine air brushes against me… and something inside shifts.
That scent.
I know it.
Suddenly, I’m not here. I’m a little blond boy again. Holding my mother’s hand as we walk out of our apartment early in the morning. The world is still quiet, as if it’s only just beginning. We’re heading to kindergarten, like every morning.
The images are blurred. Unclear.
But the scent… that stayed precise.
It carries others with it. The cream my mother used. The air of the kindergarten. The taste of the spread we had for breakfast.
And that feeling.
Different.
Today, I feel fulfilled. Grounded. I know where I am and why.
But that… was simpler.
Quieter.
Without questions.
Just being.
Maybe everything around us changes. Maybe we do too.
But sometimes, one breath is enough…
and everything returns to a place it never truly left.