Dissolve

The margin between what we keep and what we release grows thin— a photograph curling at its edges, words burning into silence.

Nothing holds its shape when pressed against memory. The river forgets its banks, the sky unmakes itself in rain, a voice becomes an echo becomes an absence becomes simply air.

We are always leaving. Even our names scatter like birds at dusk, like startled thoughts that don't belong to us anymore.

The world keeps its secrets by becoming them— stone learns to wait, water learns to disappear, and we learn what it means to be porous, unfinished, always in the act of becoming something else.