Silver Skin, Steel Soul

The silver fabric clings to my skin like a second layer of light, reflecting every neon pulse and jagged shadow of this concrete labyrinth. I am a mirror in a city that refuses to look at itself. People pass me—blurred ghosts with hurried eyes—and I wonder if anyone sees the tremor beneath the shine. My dress is armor, yet it feels too thin to protect against the biting chill of being alone in a crowd.
My feet ache against the pavement, but my soul is heavier. It has been so long since someone held my hand and didn't let go. Every face in this sea of motion is a smudge of color until I see you. You aren't looking for me, yet here we are, colliding in the static between seconds—a glitch in the rhythm of the rush hour.
I want to pull you into my orbit, to melt this metallic shell against your chest until the metal turns warm with our shared breath. I need your touch to crack the surface, to find the heat that keeps us alive when the city turns gray at dawn. In this hive of glass and steel, love isn't a soft whisper; it is a riot in the ribcage. And right now, my heart is screaming for you through the hum of electricity.

Editor: Desire Line