there is a second, a single, mischievous second, when time forgets to move.
like an in-breath as the conductor raises their arm.
bow steady. heart beating a little harder against my cello.
the silence loud with anticipation.
Suspended, 2025. Captured on film.
even the pool seems to wait for permission to ripple.
two hands, suspended above the surface, still dry.
about to disappear into their reflection.
[click]
in that fragile pause, I often think about all the things that almost are.
almost said. almost done. almost felt.
and then, just before the water shivers, I smile.
because sometimes, the magic isn’t in the doing.
it’s in the not-yet.
[splash]
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