Melt

The ice cube is smaller now.

I put the glass down this morning.

It's been three hours.

The water is spreading out from where it was,

a small pool collecting around the cube,

which is still a cube but rounder at the edges,

less of what it was,

more of what it's becoming.

I'm not doing anything about it.

I could move the glass.

I could wipe up the water.

I could put a coaster under it.

Instead I'm just standing here,

watching something disappear.

The cube will be gone by evening.

The water will evaporate.

The counter will dry.

No one will know I stood here

doing nothing

about something that didn't matter.

But it's easier to watch the ice melt

than to think about the other things

that are melting somewhere else.

Easier to pay attention to something

with a clear ending,

with a timeline I can actually track.

The cube is maybe half now.

Still technically a cube.

Still technically there.

Still technically melting.

I move closer to look at it.

The water has a small rainbow in it,

something about the light and the refraction,

something I wouldn't have seen

if I'd just moved it

like a normal person would have done.

There's nothing I can do to stop it.

There's nothing I'm supposed to do.

There's just this:

the small sound of dissolution,

the counter getting wet,

my hand reaching out and then

not reaching out,

just staying still,

just watching,

just letting it happen

because sometimes that's the only thing

you're allowed to do.