Echoes Through a Veil of Dew

The world outside is a blur of neon veins and asphalt sighs, but here—within this glass sanctuary—time dissolves into the scent of wet moss and blooming jasmine.
My palm rests against the pane, tracing droplets that cling like frozen tears. Each one holds a miniature universe I am not yet ready to enter. They say cities are built on stone and steel, but for me, they are constructed from moments: your hand lingering in my hair at midnight, the way our breaths tangled before sleep.
I press closer, feeling the cool resistance of glass against my skin, yearning for its fracture into warmth. Am I healing? Or am I simply learning to love the ghost of you that lingers in every shadow here?
The light filters through green leaves like liquid gold pouring over silk. In this quiet space, your name is a secret melody hummed by the roots beneath my feet—a soft ache, beautiful and constant as the rain on glass.

Editor: Floating Muse