Before the World Went Digital

There was a time
when the sky was enough
when we looked up
and never thought
to capture the blue.

When afternoons stretched endlessly,
and sunlight touched the walls
like something sacred.

We waited for people
without knowing where they were.
We missed them
without a little green light
telling us they were online.

We wrote with our hands,
called just to hear a voice,
knocked on doors
instead of sending words
through a screen.

Memories were fewer,
but somehow deeper.
A photograph was precious
because there were only a few.

Then came the glowing world,
the endless scrolling,
the artificial voices,
the machines that learned
how to speak for us,
write for us,
and sometimes
feel almost for us.

And somewhere between
the notifications and the noise,
I think we misplaced something.

Not technology.
Not time.

Ourselves.

Because perhaps the world
did not lose its colours.

Perhaps we simply stopped
looking at it long enough
to notice them.

So tonight,
I will leave the screen dark.

And I will watch the sunset
without taking a picture.

I will let the moment disappear.

Because maybe
some beautiful things
were never meant
to be saved,

only lived.