Not everything that moves means to leave.
The jump wasn’t clean.
Her balance tipped sideways, the hem of her skirt caught late by the wind.
And still—it worked.
Not because it was perfect, but because the moment didn’t try to be anything else.
It just let go. Briefly. Boldly.
Then gravity caught up again.
Sometimes, the image arrives like that—fast, loud, then strangely quiet after.
Like a thought that hits before you know what it means.
