Golden Hour Reveries

The light, thick as honey, pools across the floorboards and warms my skin – a gentle weight that mirrors the slow bloom within me.
He isn't here, not physically. Just the lingering scent of sandalwood and something uniquely *him* woven into the fibers of the linen curtains. But his absence feels… different now. It doesn’t carve out an emptiness; it simply allows space for a quiet ache, a tender echo of how deeply he touched me.
I trace the line of my collarbone, remembering the feel of his lips there, soft and questioning before claiming with a possessive grace that still makes my pulse flutter. It was foolish to think I could navigate this city alone, this life draped in steel and glass, without a touch like that – a grounding force.
He unearthed something fragile within me, something I’d long believed broken beyond repair, and held it with such reverence.
The sun shifts, pulling the warmth away too soon, but the memory lingers; a promise of slow mornings, shared silences, and the exquisite torture of wanting more than I ever dared to ask for. A whisper against my skin – is that his ghost or just the lingering heat of yesterday?

Editor: Velvet Red