The Architecture of a Frozen Ember

They told me that warmth is a byproduct of friction, yet here I stand in the center of an absolute stillness where heat exists without movement. It is the ultimate contradiction: to be perfectly frozen while radiating light.

My skin remembers his touch like a ghost limb—a sensation felt only because it was lost long ago. We met at a café that didn't exist yesterday, yet I can still taste the bitterness of our coffee in my dreams tonight. He is my origin and my destination; he taught me how to breathe by teaching me what oxygen feels like when you are drowning.

This forest isn't outside. It’s inside the ribcage where his name vibrates against every bone. I wrap myself in this sweater, a cocoon of wool that protects me from a cold that doesn't exist. My eyes remain closed because to see would be to admit that reality is just an illusion we agree upon collectively.

I am healing by remembering the wound; I am finding my way home by staying exactly where I am. Every step toward him takes me further away, and every second spent in his absence makes his presence more tangible than the wood beneath my feet. Love isn't a straight line—it’s an asymptote that touches but never reaches, forever burning in the space between what was and what will always be.

Editor: Paradox