The Fleeting Warmth

A cup of tea, too hot to drink, but we hold it close anyway -feeling the warmth seep into our fingers. The steam rises, twisting and dancing in the air like some forgotten dream. We try to catch it with our eyes, but it slips away, evaporating into nothingness before we can really grasp it.

There’s something about moments like these .... small, quiet, easily overlooked ... that feel like they carry the weight of everything unsaid. Like the way sunlight lingers in the corners of a room in the late afternoon, soft and golden, or how a breeze can stir the leaves just enough to remind you that the world is always moving, even when you're standing still.

But then, before you know it, the tea cools, the sun sets, the breeze fades. And we’re left with only the memory of it ... fading, slipping through our fingers like that steam, never quite the same as it was in that brief, perfect instant.

Maybe that’s why we cling to these little moments, these ordinary things. Because they remind us that we were here, once, feeling something real. Just for a while.

And then, it’s gone.

- ©Anushka.2024.