Ephemeral Echoes

The city tasted like ash and regret, a familiar flavor I’d grown accustomed to. He found me in that haze, didn't he? A glitch in the grayscale of my existence.
He said he liked how I looked at storms – as if they held answers. As if anything could wash away the stains already there. Foolish sentimentality, and yet…
His touch wasn’t a demand for explanation, or a promise to fix things. It was just… warmth. A slow burn against my skin that didn't need words.
He doesn't ask about the fragments of me I keep hidden, the pieces shattered by past storms, and I won’t offer. Some silences are worth more than empty assurances.
Maybe it’s pathetic, clinging to this fragile connection in a world determined to tear everything apart. But for now, his hand in mine feels like enough. It's just…enough.

Editor: Hedgehog