MONET

Monet watched the light leave the water. It changed too quickly. It always changed too quickly. He had begun the painting hours ago, chasing something that would not stay still long enough to be understood. 

“Finish it,” they would say. “Capture it.” But the light refused to be captured.

What he saw was never what remained. And what remained was never what he had seen. The canvas filled with attempts – not answers.

And somewhere beneath them all, a quiet doubt persisted: that he was not painting the world… only failing to keep up with it.