Luminescence of Lingering Heat

The rain had been relentless for days. A proper, persistent sort of weeping from the city. Now it’s just this—a lingering dampness and the way light falls across the sill like a slow exhale.
He brought me chamomile tea again. Not because I asked, precisely, but because he observes these things: how my shoulders sometimes hunch just so, how the edges of my gaze tend towards the slightly frayed. He doesn’ feeling particularly sentimental about it; more an acknowledgement of a thermostat reading low.
I suppose comfort is just another kind of heat, isn't it? A slow burn that settles in your bones rather than scorches them. This lace feels light against skin still chilled by the downpour outside. His hand lingered on my back as he left, longer than necessary to adjust a stray curtain.
A pleasant little inefficiency. I like those best.
The city hums below—a quiet, steady thrum of needing. And here, in this small pocket of sunlight and lingering heat, it feels almost… manageable.

Editor: Cinderella's Coach