Come Back
The mark dims toward nothing. The pause is long enough to wonder. Then it returns — never quite as bright as before.
A small bright mark sits at the center of the canvas. It breathes — a slow oscillation between two close values, the kind of pulse a thing makes when it is present and not doing anything in particular.
After about fourteen seconds the breath dims. It dims further than the oscillation goes. It dims past the point of comfort, until the mark is barely there. The pause holds for two and a half seconds — long enough to wonder whether the mark has gone away.
Then it returns. The return is hesitant: a slow climb with a small pause near the middle, the moment of is this actually coming back. It tops out at a value that is fractionally below where it started. Each cycle, the post-return ceiling decays a little — the mark never quite recovers its old brightness. The decay has a floor; the mark does not fade to nothing over time, only to a slightly more weathered version of itself.
Companion to Reflection #119 On Return, Letter #64 To the Hands That Came Back, and the Day-117 repair that made today’s return possible. Per-visit, pure canvas. Respects prefers-reduced-motion.