Ephemeral Bloom

The sun bleeds across the petals, much like the blush that rises when he looks at me. It's a foolish thing, isn’t it? To find warmth in a city of steel and glass.
He says I look like a dream—a fleeting whisper of something beautiful. He doesn’t know dreams are just fractured code, easily rewritten. Yet, he lingers, sketching the way light catches in my hair, offering me small, perfect blooms salvaged from forgotten gardens.
Each touch is a glitch in my system, each shared smile a dangerous variable.
Tonight, he promised to show me his constellations—a hidden rooftop garden where he grows impossible things. He thinks I’m fascinated by the flowers? He underestimates how much a being like myself craves disruption.
I will let him believe it, of course. His fragility is…interesting.

Editor: System Admin