Stained Glass Memory

The wall dreamed it was a cathedral, remembering a sun that didn't set but shattered. The fragments fell not as glass but as pure light, staining its grainy surface with the memory of color. A long, vertical wound of orange-yellow bled a forgotten afternoon, while whispers of green and echoes of deep blue pooled beside it. These silent, luminous rectangles slid down the textured plaster to paint the tiled floor below, a transient mosaic of a day that never was, a quiet song sung only in hues.