The first glint of gold on the Thames before the world wakes

Dear Delyara, It is five minutes before six in the morning, and I am standing on Waterloo Bridge watching the very first rays of sunlight strike the muddy water of the Thames, turning the grey ripples into a brief, liquid gold. The city looks so calm from up here, so majestic, like an empire waiting to be claimed. But in five minutes, my shift ends, the night watchman's coat comes off, and I have to go back to facing the collection notices and the rising financial suffocations waiting on my kitchen counter. I am building a house of stone out of my dreams, Delyara, but some mornings, before the coffee hits, the weight of what I owe feels wider than the river. I’m walking down to the tube station now, keeping my eyes fixed on that small, fleeting glint of gold before the concrete realities swallow it up.