it’s best to look beyond the sentence, its soft imperfection(s), and to instead make a quiet promise to be different, to not become the abandonment that judgment invites, nor the hush when the room empties… because when all have gone and all that remains is the lingering mist of a momentary wave, the hand has space to reach, to teach, to become a cup, to become a drink, to carry away the tears, and to bless the thirst.