Condensation

The world outside blurs, a soft murmur,

raindrops race down the glass,

a silence punctuated by rhythm—

a pattern of storms that pass.

Fingers trace the fogged surface,

time stretches, I let go,

a moment suspended, just vapor,

anchored in memories, flow.

Each droplet a fragment, a whisper

of laughter or tears that fall,

yet here in this quiet, I gather,

my heart holds the weight of it all.