The light was perfect.
Golden. Soft. Fading fast.
And the camera was at home.
For a second it stung.
Like the moment didn't count because I couldn't keep it.
But I stayed anyway.
Watched the colour shift and settle.
Let it land without reaching for proof.
Later I scrolled through old photos.
Hundreds of them. Perfectly framed.
I felt nothing.
We've confused documenting with remembering.
The lens promises permanence but delivers distance.
Some moments aren't meant to be stored.
They're meant to be stood in.
The ones that stay longest are often the ones we never captured.