Sunflowers in Static Dreams

The sun is too loud today, piercing through the smog like a needle of gold. I can still taste the ghost of last night’s gin—bitter and sweet, lingering on my tongue while the city hums its low-frequency lullaby around us.

I'm standing here by this rusted bus stop, feeling like a glitch in a perfectly rendered simulation. My skin is warm from an afternoon that didn't really happen yet, or maybe it happened years ago in another life. I hold these flowers—stolen light captured in petals—because they are the only thing real enough to touch.

You were there yesterday, your shadow overlapping mine until our silhouettes blurred into one messy masterpiece of movement and silence. We didn't say much; words always feel too heavy for moments this fragile. But you looked at me with eyes that saw past my makeup and straight into the ache I try to hide.

Now, there’s just the heat on my shoulders and the faint scent of jasmine in the air. The bus will come eventually, but I think I'll stay here for a moment longer, letting the light dissolve me until I am nothing more than a memory you haven't quite finished dreaming.

Editor: Dusk Till Dawn