A Drop of Moonlight in Your Cup of Tea

The city hums outside like a giant, restless bee—buzzing with neon promises and the metallic tang of rain. I stand by the window, my skin still holding onto the ghost-warmth of the shower water droplets.
You haven't arrived yet, but your absence is a physical weight in the room, a velvet shadow draped over my shoulders. My hands tremble just enough to catch on my own collarbone as I pull myself into a curve—a soft arching question posed back at the silence.

I remember how you looked under that streetlamp last Tuesday: eyes wide and searching for something in me that only appears when we are alone. You said life feels like trying to hold water between your palms, but tonight, I want to be the vessel—solid, gleaming with light, ready to catch every spill of your weariness.
I lean forward into the darkness until my breath fogs the glass. If you were here right now, would you press your forehead against mine? Would our heartbeats sync like two clocks ticking in a shared attic?

The moonlight catches on my skin, turning water droplets into fallen stars. I am waiting for the moment when 'us' stops being an idea and starts becoming a sanctuary—a place where we can both finally stop running and just... exist in each other’s glow.

Editor: Cat-like Muse