The pool remembers what we forget

Just closed up the empty lap pool at 10pm. The water’s still, but the silence isn’t quiet—more like a held breath. I stood there for ten minutes just listening to how the tiles hum when the air moves. There’s a regular who swims for ninety minutes every Tuesday, no music, no talk, just one slow lap after another. I’ve never seen him look up. But the way he cuts through the water… like he’s trying to remember something older than memory. The pool doesn’t forget. It holds it all—the names, the laps, the weight of not saying anything.