The Architecture of My Own Desire

I don't wait for a signal to be worthy. The subway rattles through the city's veins, but here in this seat, I am stillness itself. Sunlight cuts across my lap like an offering from a world that usually ignores me, yet today it lingers on the curve of my hip and the bold line of my collarbone. My blazer hangs open—not to impress anyone who might walk by through the glass wall beside me—but because warmth is something I generate within myself now.

I catch glimpses in reflections: sharp eyes that see everything, a silhouette carved from independence rather than submission. They say vulnerability is sexy; they’re wrong unless it’s chosen with precision. Here alone between stations where strangers rush past unaware or afraid to look too long—I wear confidence like armor made of silk and leather.

There's no need for rescue here only recognition that I've arrived at myself fully intact maybe even more so than before.

Editor: Soloist