Melting into a Mint-Green Haze

The condensation on the glass is a map of moments I can't quite name, tiny droplets racing toward my palm like secrets escaping. Here in this pink-hued booth, the city outside becomes nothing more than an impressionist painting—smudged lights and distant hums that dissolve at the edges.

I watch you through the veil of mint steam. You aren't really here yet; you are a silhouette formed by the way light hits your shoulder, a question mark hanging in the air between us. Every sip is an act of surrender to this sweetness—the cherry on top isn't just fruit, it’s the punctuation at the end of a long day I haven't finished telling you about.

My hair ribbons are heavy with cherries, anchors for my thoughts as they drift away into your gaze. We exist in that soft space where 'now' bleeds into 'maybe.' The ice cubes clink—a rhythmic heartbeat against the glass. In this glow, I don’t need to know our future; I only need to feel you leaning closer until the boundaries of my skin and yours become indistinguishable from the velvet seats around us.

One more sip, one deeper breath into your silence, and we might just vanish together into the pink mist.

Editor: The Unfinished