life

What Keeps Passing Between Us

On most evenings, just before the lights come on across the street, I see them on their balcony.

Not doing anything remarkable.

He waters the plants. She adjusts the chairs. Sometimes they sit without speaking. Sometimes they laugh at something that does not seem important enough to laugh about. And yet, there is a small ritual between them. A passing of the watering can. A gentle tap on the shoulder. A quiet sound that somehow feels like a full conversation.

That little passing, that unnoticed exchange, has been there for years.

2

Always There, Almost Seen

In the early morning, before the house fully wakes, there is a quiet that feels almost deliberate.

I was sitting by the window with a cup of coffee, not thinking of anything in particular, when I noticed how the light had already entered the room before I had. It rested on the edge of the table, then moved slowly across the floor, as if it had been waiting there long before I came to sit beside it.

2

When the Cycle Returns, Do We?

There is a way the day slips away without ever announcing its departure. Not in hours, but in fragments. A glance that lingers too long, a scroll that begins without intention, a thought that drifts and quietly takes the rest of the afternoon with it.

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