Echoes in Amber

The city hums a muted song tonight, a rhythm that usually claws at the edges of my quiet.
But not now. Not with your hand brushing mine as we waited for the coffee, a touch so fleeting it could be imagined, yet leaving embers on my skin.
Rain streaks down the windowpane, mirroring the trails that sometimes blur my vision when I recall your face – a ghost of warmth in this December chill.
I trace the lines on this chipped mug, each imperfection a familiar comfort. It’s foolish to yearn for something unspoken, isn't it? To find oneself captivated by a stranger’s gaze across a crowded room, a silent promise hanging heavy in the air.
Yet, I do. And within that yearning, there is an exquisite ache, a bittersweet melody of what could be. Perhaps, just perhaps, some silences are meant to linger, pregnant with possibilities yet unformed.

Editor: Lyric