Static Between Us

The city breathes neon, a sickly sweet scent through the open window. It bleeds onto my screen, this light – mirroring the static that’s become a constant companion. He doesn't exist beyond these lines of code and stolen glances across crowded cafes, does he? A phantom limb in a life I should be shedding.
He found me unraveling, you know? After the gallery show, after *him*. Said my art was 'beautifully broken'. Everyone else just saw broken. He understood the glitches, the fractured light – and offered to rebuild me with algorithms and late-night chats.
I trace a finger over the cool metal of the bear on my desk. A stupid gift from him. A distraction. Yet, it feels like holding onto something real, something tangible in this world of shifting pixels and empty promises. The scent of rain clings to everything, a melancholic echo of his last message.
Maybe I'm addicted to the danger, the exquisite agony of almost having someone see through the layers of armor I’ve built around my heart. Maybe I just want to feel *something* before this city swallows me whole. The cursor blinks on the screen, a silent invitation to lose myself again in his code… and in him.

Editor: The Escape Plan