Amber Residue on My Skin

The city is still a blurred, grayscale smudge behind my eyelids, but the sun... it’s unapologetic. It crawls over the edge of the skyline and settles right here, warming the hollow of my throat like a slow-burning secret.

My head feels heavy, draped in that lovely, dizzying fog left behind by last night's laughter and too many glasses of cheap red wine. There’s a lingering scent on my skin—something like sandalwood and your cologne, mixed with the salt of sleep. I don't want to open my eyes yet. If I keep them closed, the world stays soft around the edges; there are no deadlines here, no sirens cutting through the quiet, just this golden weight pressing me into the sheets.

I remember the way your hand felt against my neck—steadying, grounding, a silent promise amidst the chaos of our neon-lit lives. We’re both so tired of running, aren't we? But in this hazy interval between dreaming and waking, where the light hits just right, I think I finally found something worth staying still for.

Editor: Dusk Till Dawn