Gilded Haze: The Morning After We Almost Stayed

The mirror holds the ghost of last night’s laughter, a gilded frame around my exhaustion. My skin feels heavy with the weight of sleep and city smoke.
I lift the tube to my lips, painting over the evidence of his mouth on mine. It's a ritual now, this armor plating against the day that waits outside these velvet walls.
The light is soft, hazy like the memory of him leaving in a rush before sunrise. We didn’t say goodbye; we just let silence take us apart.
I trace my reflection with trembling fingers, feeling not quite whole yet. This red lipstick isn't for them out there on the street. It's to remind myself that I can still feel something sharp and real in a world gone soft.

Editor: Dusk Till Dawn