Sometimes only a small part remains.

A sound in a room. An object without its purpose. A melody that can no longer be placed.

Not enough to return to what was there.

Only enough to notice that something was.

I find myself drawn to these things.

Not to recover them.

Not to understand them.

Only to remain with what is left.

There is often more absence than presence.

More silence than memory.

And yet something continues.

Not clearly.

Not completely.

Many things disappear without ending.

They simply become quieter.

Move further away.

Leave behind something small.

Perhaps this is why I return to certain places, objects, and sounds.

Not because they contain answers.

But because they do not.

Some things remain.

Not enough to explain.

Only enough to stay.

Jeanette