Water's Patience

The stone remembers nothing but its own dissolution— each drop a patient hand, a thousand years of asking without sound.

In the dark beneath the earth, water learns the language of pressure, how to speak in caverns, how to build the slow architecture of nothing into something.

We call it waiting, but the water knows a secret: there is no waiting, only the inevitable choreography of what must give way.

A single drop falling carries the weight of oceans— not with force but with the certainty of a sentence that cannot be unspoken, a choice that was made long before we learned to count.