fragments
poems. fragments. things that couldn't be said any other way.
about making. about hands. about serendipity.
about the moment between creation and discovery.
these pieces are incomplete on purpose.
they're meant to linger. to sit with you.
not to be solved. just felt.
to make something
knowing you won't know
who finds it.
is that faith or recklessness?
maybe they're the same thing.
maybe the only way to make something true
is to release it
without needing to know it mattered.
this passed through hands.
mine. then yours. other the other way around. maybe someone else's before it got to me. maybe someone else's between.
screens can't do this.
not because hands are precious. because hands mean someone chose this.
held it.
let it go.
and you're the next choice in that chain.
you weren't looking for it.
you turn a corner. it's there.
your whole afternoon stops.
that doesn't happen anymore. everything is designed to fit into your plans.
this wasn't.
that's the rarest thing now.