Morning hush. A thin veil of light drifts through the curtains.
She lies across the bed, dream-scent still clinging to her skin,
a white tank top tracing the quiet shape of her body.
Behind closed eyes, yesterday’s lines still burn upon her lips.
On set, she is an actress, a life composed for the lens—
but here, within these four walls, she dissolves into simply I.
Time softens. In the tilt of a shoulder, in the flicker at the edge of a gaze,
an unspoken story flickers, fragile yet certain, already alive.