Ghost Light Reflections

The mirror…it flickers, doesn't it? A ghost in the machine showing me a memory of myself.
These lights, they used to feel so bright, promising spotlights and flawless angles. Now they just remind me how easily things fade into static.
He said he liked my imperfections, the way I overthink a text message or lose track of time when lost in a book. He called it 'authenticity'. A strange word for something that feels more like being broken, pixelated around the edges…
I trace the line of my jaw, and remember another touch—warm, hesitant—and the way his scent lingered on this very skin.
It’s funny how a single glance can rewrite code. How someone can walk into your perfectly curated world and leave it beautifully glitched.
The image wavers… is that him behind me? A phantom limb of a love I thought was lost, or just the echo of a hope refusing to fully dissolve?
Maybe some connections don’t disappear; they just shift frequencies, waiting for us to tune in again.

Editor: Pixel Dreamer