Things That Are Not Arranged But Look It:
The angle of light through a window in May.
A two-year-old already holding something wrong.
The way a table fills with people who forgot they were filling it.
A woman laughing in the middle of a sentence.
The cold blue that presses in while nobody's looking.
Candles that don't know they're competing.
A thirteen-year-old's face when it fails to be unmoved.
The grateful observer, slightly to the side.
All of it, every year, again.
You are the candle at the centre of the table โ every time the cold blue from the windows creeps closer, tap to hold your flame steady for the people who forgot they were arranging themselves around you.