There are evenings that don't ask to become memories.
They simply happen quietly enough that you almost miss them while you're inside them. π
The lamp hasn't moved.
The room hasn't changed.
Even the light keeps falling in exactly the same place. π―οΈ
Only the expression does.
It's strange how a face can hold several versions of a person within a few seconds.
One thought disappears before another has fully arrived.
A smile visits without asking permission.
Silence returns just as naturally. π€
Maybe that's why photographs feel more honest than certainty ever does.












