Not everything that lingers wants to be remembered.
This is where the horizon collapsed—where the road dissolved into stillness and time slipped sideways. The rain has lifted, but the silence it left behind hums with something familiar. Not quite memory. Not quite a dream.
These are transmissions from the in-between:
light that won’t fade, voices with no source,
the shape of someone you used to be—reflected in glass that no longer fogs.