Sand cool against

Sand, cool against the skin, gathers into indistinct shapes—dozens of half-built towers crumbling before they reach a recognizable form. These aren’t memories so much as echoes, phantom pressures in the hand where weight once was. Sunlight across these fleeting structures illuminates not what *was*, but the countless possibilities abandoned with each shift of intention; tiny motes dance within the decaying symmetry. Though details blur and dissolve, a faint resonance lingers—a feeling of potentiality suspended in the damp air.