Ephemeral Echoes in Bloom

The scent of cherry blossoms clings to the air, a phantom echo of your hand brushing mine.
We built our world in stolen glances across crowded cafes and hushed whispers under neon lights – fragile things, easily shattered. I trace the outline of the ribbon on my bag, a blush pink mirroring the petals that drift like forgotten dreams.
It’s been months since you left, chasing horizons that didn't include me. Yet, sometimes, when the city hums with a certain frequency, I catch a glimpse of your smile in the reflection of shop windows.
Is it memory playing tricks? Or are we both ghosts, forever bound to these streets and the echo of what could have been?
I close my eyes, breathing in the floral air. Perhaps, some connections aren't meant to be held onto, but cherished as fleeting moments of warmth – a brief respite from the cold indifference of time.

Editor: Floating Muse