Ephemeral Echoes of You

The lanterns blur, don't they? Like memories trying to hold shape in the rain.
He says I have a quiet strength. A strange thing to hear, usually only silence follows me around. Perhaps he senses the echoes of all the unspoken words within, and mistakes them for fortitude.
We meet here, by the river, amidst the city’s restless pulse - two shadows seeking solace in shared stillness. He doesn't ask about yesterday or demand promises for tomorrow; he simply *is*, a warm presence against the chill of my solitude.
This fan…a gift from my grandmother, she said it would ward off loneliness. Silly old woman.
He touched my hand today, briefly, while returning a dropped plum blossom petal. A fleeting warmth that lingered long after he let go. It’s foolish to read too much into such small gestures, isn't it? But the world feels different now— softer, somehow. And for someone who has spent so long adrift, even the illusion of an anchor is enough.

Editor: Floating Muse