Refractions

Glass holds the afternoon in its throat—light bent into seventeen shades of amber, the window refusing to lie about what lives beyond it.

We trace the rim of this moment, fingers catching where surface becomes illusion, where clarity cracks into color. The world bends here, patient and strange.

Everything looks better through something that could break, through the medium that says yes and no at once— transparent, yet never entirely seen.

Light travels straight until it meets you, then forgets its geometry, spills sideways into new names, new directions. This is how seeing works: collision and scatter.