What the Evening Covers I am sitting in this room. The day was here a moment ago— I am sure of it. The light was on the table, On my hands, On the ordinary things. Then the evening came The way a lie comes— Not all at once, But in stutters, Covering one thing at a time, Until you can no longer see What was there before. You don’t notice it happening. That is how things come and go— Evening and lying. By the time you see them They are already finished. The room is already dark. The lies already melted and spread thin in the air. And in that thinness, The memories fall. This is what light does to memory— Bright light makes them sharp, Cruel. You see the thing as it was, Only, not as you need to. But the evening light, the half-light, the light that is already halfway to darkness— that light is merciful and also dangerous. It makes everything A little more beautiful Than it was. It makes you remember The warmth and not the argument, The face and not the words, The arrival and not the leaving. Or is it the other way around? You sit in this room And the evening rewrites the day And you let it, Because the version it writes Is easier to believe. And then— The sky All of it goes there eventually. The days, the evenings, The memories that were real, The memories that were kind. Instead of holding things— The sky takes all of it–– Without preference. It has been taking things long before we started Handing them over. The sky does not ask what was real. It does not ask what you wish had happened. It carries the lie And the truth In the same breath That it inhales moisture from sea and soil. Afterwards, The same letting go And coming back, As dew, Then rain, Then waves, Once floating The next moment–– Drowning. It changes nothing and changes everything. I am still sitting in this room. The evening has covered Most of what happened that day. Tomorrow the light will come back And make things burn again For a little while. But the heaven already has him. And whatever he has become— Has already come down as rain. Perhaps, The sea has him now. I would like to think that He is neither lost nor here. Just carried By someone else–– The way the sea and the sky carry everything— with a gentle sound That can put you to sleep And keep you awake At the same time.
Thanks for the read.