Dissolving Moments

Light bends through the glass, water holding the sun like a secret, each ripple a small forgetting— we watch the day scatter across the surface.

Hours pool at our feet. We don't speak, afraid the words might shatter what's luminous here, this pocket of stillness before evening comes.

The light thins. Softens. What we knew in brightness becomes shadow, becomes memory, becomes something we almost remember.

Tomorrow will ask us to forget this entirely, but tonight the glass holds us gently, and we are not yet dissolved.