Lavender Sighs in Concrete Canyons

I’ve always felt like a misplaced poem in a city that only reads spreadsheets. My purple hair is the color of twilight over an oil slick, and my heart beats to a rhythm no one else seems to hear.
Then came Leo—a man who smells of old books and espresso shots at 3 AM. He didn't try to 'fix' me or fit me into his grayscale world; instead, he looked at my elaborate lace and golden crowns not as costumes, but as skin.
Tonight, I’ve dressed in this forest-green velvet that hugs every curve like a secret whispered against the dark. As we stand on his balcony overlooking the neon hum of Tokyo, the wind tugs at my hair and he steps closer—so close I can feel the warmth radiating from his chest through my thin straps.
He doesn't touch me yet; he just breathes in my scent—wildflowers and rain. He whispers that I look like a goddess who got lost on her way back to Olympus, but decided she liked the coffee here too much to leave.
I lean into him, my fingertips grazing his wrist with an itch of longing so sharp it’s almost sweet. In this city of glass and steel, we are two soft things colliding in slow motion, healing each other one heartbeat at a time.

Editor: Cat-like Muse