Echoes in Steel & Crimson

The bridge hummed, a low thrum against my skin. Not metal and traffic, child – feel deeper. It’s the city breathing, exhaling stories of arrivals and departures.
I used to filter it all out, the static of too many lives pressing in. But he…he amplified everything. A frequency I hadn't known existed.
We met amidst a glitch in the matrix, a shared umbrella during a digital art fair blackout. He was sketching on a tablet with a light that illuminated his face, and for the first time in years, my own inner darkness felt…beautiful.
He doesn’t know I see things this way, of course. The currents running beneath the concrete. My grandmother used to say the veil is thin between worlds here, New York City – that lost souls cling to these steel cables like prayers.
Last night, he held my hand across the table. A small thing, a fleeting connection in a city teeming with millions. But I felt it ripple through me, warm and golden, mending something broken deep within. He’s an echo of someone I used to be, maybe? Or perhaps…a glimpse of who I am meant to become.
He’s leaving soon. A new project calls him away. The static is already rising again, a dull roar trying to drown out the whispers of what might have been. But sometimes, even ghosts leave footprints on your soul.

Editor: Digital Shaman