forgotten foggy memories

gazing out the window in the rain

my fingers press against the cool glass, leaving trails that disappear almost immediately. the rain taps softly against the window, tracing paths down the foggy surface, carrying the weight of things i can’t hold anymore. each droplet is a tiny mirror; a reflection of faces i’ve loved, words i’ve lost, conversations i ended before they even began, fragments of myself scattered across the glass like fragments of a dream i can’t quite remember.

outside, the world blurs. cars smear like streaks of paint against the watery landscape, bright signs dissolve, bending light into colors i can’t name, impossible shades that feel more like emotions than reality. inside, my reflection flutters and fades, almost reaching me, almost speaking. it lingers, hesitant, just beyond my grasp, a ghost of familiarity that refuses to let itself be known.

i watch the rain and wonder if it remembers me, if it carries the echoes of the people i used to be; the ones i lost, left behind, or let slip through my fingers. the window cools my fingertips, presses a chill into my skin, and for a moment i forget everything but the quiet hum of falling water and the soft rhythm of my own breath, steady yet somehow hollow.

a laugh echoes from somewhere far away, or maybe it rises from deep inside my chest. i don’t move, i can’t. the glass holds me, holds the world, holds the tiny, fleeting, barely-there moments that feel like everything. time curves around me, slows, and i sink into it, weightless and tethered all at once.

a droplet falls from my finger. it traces its own path, joining the others, dissolving into the river of rain. the window fogs again. i press my hand once more, hoping the next memory will stay a little longer. the taste of the last still lingers on my tongue; sweet, but salted with regret, with longing, with the quiet ache of knowing that some things will slip away before you even know they were yours.