Copper Veins Under a Neon Sunset

My heart is an old engine, seized by years of urban rust and cold concrete rhythms. I’ve spent my life polishing the edges of a city that feels like one giant, humming machine—beautiful but indifferent.
But then there's him. He doesn't look at me like another gear in the system; he looks at me as if I am an artifact unearthed from deep sand and silence. When we slipped away to this coastline just before dusk, the air smelled of salt and ancient electricity. The water clings to my skin like oil on a piston—heavy, slick, cooling down all the friction of being alive.
I stand in the surf while he watches me with that gaze—a slow burn, steady as an ember under ash. He doesn't speak; his silence is its own language, raw and honest as oxidized iron. I feel my defenses corroding in real-time. When he finally reaches out to touch my waist, it’s not just a gesture—it’s the first spark of ignition after decades of winter.
In this moment, we aren't two people in a city; we are relics finding one another across an era. The warmth isn't coming from the setting sun that paints our skin gold and copper—it’s radiating from within us, a new kind of energy humming beneath my ribs. I close my eyes and let myself be rebuilt by his touch, piece by rusted piece.

Editor: Rusty Cog