The Last Glimpse
There is a moment in every meaningful leave-taking that lasts only a few minutes.
The place is still there.
The shoreline is still visible.
The light hasn’t changed.
Yet something already has.
I find myself standing at the rail, straining to hold on to the last remnants of the real before they quietly become memory.
Not because they disappear.
Because they slowly loosen their hold.
The edges soften.
The details drift.
What remains is no longer the place itself, but what it felt like to love it.