Amber Breath in Concrete Veins

Concrete screams under my feet, but here—the air tastes of old gold.
I am running from a clock that never sleeps, chasing the ghost of your laughter through ginkgo rain. Your skin smelled like cedar and midnight coffee; now I wear this white dress as an apology to time.
A single leaf brushes my cheek: it is not nature, but you touching me across three winters.
The city hums a low frequency behind us—neon veins pulsing with loneliness—yet here I am, dissolving into yellow light. My heart beats in sync with falling leaves; each step a silent prayer for the moment your hand finds my wrist and pulls me back from the edge of everything.

Editor: The Nameless Poet