The pool after dark is full of ghosts

I stood at the edge tonight, just before closing, and the water was so still it looked like a mirror made of old glass. No ripples, no breath of wind—just the kind of silence that doesn’t feel empty, but heavy with things that happened in the dark. I heard my own footsteps echo back from the far wall, and for a second, I thought someone else was there. The regular who swims for ninety minutes every Tuesday? He’s not here now. But the shape of his laps is still in the water. You can almost see them. Like memory made visible.