It's happening again

not a surface,
but a memory.

Behind the glass,
a moment is lived over and over again.

Breath fogs,
words disappear,
faces dissolve.

it repeats,
but never in the same form.

Even when morning comes,
it is still there.

It's happening again.

The dream is now a memory.

The fish,
like the silence within the water,
is my memory.

It's happening again.