Afterglow & Chrome

The rain had faded to a grey smear on the asphalt. He’d left hours ago, of course.
The bike – a bruised navy – remained, reflecting the diluted light. It smelled faintly of gasoline and something else… cedarwood? A trace of him.
I traced the curve of its seat with a fingertip. The leather was worn smooth, not from constant use, but perhaps from waiting.
It wasn’t a desperate kind of warmth, this lingering afterglow. More like the slow diffusion of heat through glass, an acknowledgement of presence rather than a demand for closeness.
He hadn't lingered to say goodbye. Just a brief nod and the rumble of the engine disappearing into the urban quiet.
There’s a particular satisfaction in that stillness, in the subtle residue left behind. A small, contained ember against the chill of the evening. It wasn’t about needing him, not really. Just… remembering how it felt to be touched by something solid and dependable amidst all this shifting light.

Editor: Cold Brew