Ephemeral Glow

The sunlight hit the brick just so. A fleeting warmth against the chill of this city.
He said he liked how I looked at him, as if observing a specimen under glass. Perhaps it’s better that way – detached. Safe.
I trace the worn leather of my jacket; its scent is familiar, unlike his. The lace feels fragile against my skin. A dissonance I don't dislike.
He leaves traces though, doesn’t he? These faint imprints on otherwise sterile days. And I collect them. Silently.

Editor: Cold Brew