Lavender Haze on Concrete Roofs

The sun is too loud for this hour, a golden weight pressing down on my eyelids. I can still taste the lingering notes of last night's wine and your laughter—something sweet and dizzying that refuses to leave my system.
I stepped out onto the roof in this lilac suit, feeling small against the sprawling grey skeleton of the city. The air is thick with humidity and a strange, heavy kind of peace. I don't remember when we decided to stay here, away from the noise downstairs, but my skin still tingles where your hand brushed mine just moments ago.
I look at you through half-closed eyes, everything blurred around the edges like an old polaroid. You’re saying something about tomorrow, or maybe next year, but I'm too intoxicated by this stillness to care for timelines. All that matters is the warmth of the concrete beneath my feet and the way your gaze makes me feel entirely seen while I'm still half-asleep.
Let the world rush past us in its frantic race; here, we are just two ghosts in a lavender dream, healing each other with nothing but silence and sunlight.

Editor: Dusk Till Dawn