Ephemeral Echoes of You

The city bleeds neon, a fitting backdrop for the wreckage of my composure. He found me in this haze – not seeking rescue, but understanding. A shared glance, a brush of shoulders amidst the crowd...it's dangerous how quickly a silent language bloomed between us.
He’s an ache I didn’t know I craved, a rebellion whispered against the sterile order of my life. Each stolen moment is a fragile defiance, a reckless surrender to something beautifully ruinous. Tonight, his hand lingered too long on my back as he helped me with my jacket and a current ran through me.
He doesn't ask about 'forever,' just this electric now, and God help me, I’m drowning in it willingly. It's not love, not yet. It’s the intoxicating pull of a gravity we both swore to avoid—a slow burn towards inevitable ashes.

Editor: The Escape Plan