New Street

The road wasn’t there yesterday — 
just dust and a memory of weeds,
a place where silence stretched
like an untold story.

Now it hums with footsteps,
fresh pavement holding the weight
of beginnings — 
shoes that haven’t chosen direction yet.

Streetlights bloom one by one,
small suns learning how to stay,
casting gold on faces
that don’t know each other — yet.

Windows open like questions,
laughter spills, uncertain but willing,
and somewhere a name is spoken
for the very first time.

This street has no past to lean on,
no ghosts tucked in its corners,
only the fragile courage
of what might be.

Walk it slowly — 
every crack will come later,
every story still soft,
still waiting to be lived.