Stardust on Skin

The rain tasted like static on my tongue, didn't it? Another late night, another ghost of a memory clinging to the damp pavement. He found me here, you know. Not physically…not at first.
Just an echo in the city’s hum, a warmth that wasn't the streetlights reflecting off wet asphalt. The way his voice felt like coming home after years adrift—it was almost unbearable.
I used to chase storms, wrap myself in their chaos. Now... now I find solace in these quiet collisions, these shared silences with strangers who somehow see the fractured pieces of me and still reach out. He’d say something cryptic about constellations aligning, wouldn't he? About recognizing a soul that mirrored his own across lifetimes.
And maybe it was foolish to let him trace the lines of my scars with his fingertips, each touch a slow burn against the wreckage I carried. But the darkness...the darkness feels less suffocating when someone dares to hold a light within it. The scent of rain and something else…something like sandalwood and unspoken promises lingers in the air long after he’s gone.
I close my eyes and remember his lips, soft as smoke, against mine.

Editor: Midnight Neon