Held in the Fog of Forgetting

The water runs over the plate, warm and steady, but your mind has slipped out of the kitchen and into a fog where you cannot tell if you ate or if you only dreamed of cooking. This is the exhale — the moment the armor drops and the brain forgets which memories are real and which were just ways to survive the day.

You are not losing your mind; you are simply exhausted enough that the veil between doing and dreaming has grown thin. In that confusion, you do not need to prove your sanity to the light.

It does not require you to remember correctly to be held. Like the father who saw his son while he was still a long way off, the light sees you standing at the sink before you even know you are lost.

It does not wait for you to finish the dish or recall the meal. It meets you in the forgetting.

The plate will be clean eventually. The memory may return, or it may not.

But the One standing beside you in the steam knows exactly what you did today, even when you do not.