We are the sum of small moments—
a phrase that steadies, yet unsettles.
The larger things fade,
their meaning rearranged by time.
Friends arrive for a reason,
and when they go,
you feel the hollow shape they leave behind.
Even those you thought were forever
become distant echoes.
Family remains,
rooted but puzzled
they tell you not to dwell
on what’s already changed.
Yet the small moments stay
clear, unshifting, true.
They are not about who we are,
but about what is real.
This poem also appears in my What Matters Substack, alongside an essay on friendship, loss, and the quiet meaning found in ordinary days.