Dissolve

The mist rises without sound, a thousand small surrenders gathering into something almost visible—

Each droplet catches what was falling and holds it just long enough to mean something before letting go.

I watch the rain collect in your eyes, the way light breaks into smaller lights, how nothing stays whole without the permission of darkness.

This is what remains: the memory of shape, the way your hand once fit into the space where breathing happens, and the quiet after asking if forgetting is just another word for becoming something new.