I wonder if becoming one means losing the distance between things, or simply learning to exist beside something without feeling separate from it. The water meets the shore without ever truly belonging to it. The rocks remain still as the surface changes, and the mountains hold their distance, watching over a landscape that seems to have existed long before anyone arrived to witness it. Everything keeps its own shape, yet nothing feels entirely alone. Perhaps this is what draws me to certain places. They remind me that connection does not always need to be loud or visible. Sometimes it happens quietly, through proximity, through the passing of time, through the simple act of being somewhere and allowing it to become part of you. I think about the things we wish we could hold a little longer. A person, a feeling, a particular version of ourselves that only seems to exist when we are close to someone else. There is something beautiful and frightening about wanting to become part of something beyond yourself, knowing that nothing can remain untouched by time. Maybe we never truly become one. Maybe we only come close enough to forget where one thing ends and another begins. For a moment, the distinction disappears. And somewhere between holding on and letting go, we find a way to belong.