The Bloom Before the Rain

My heart is a seedling pushing through the concrete of this city, thirsty for something real. The air tastes like ozone and fresh grass, that specific scent that hangs in the atmosphere just before a storm breaks or right after one heals. I am walking toward him with my steps as light as dandelion fluff drifting on an autumn breeze.

My blue dress is a cool river flowing over skin warmed by anticipation, while the lace cardigan acts like fragile petals shielding something tender and new inside me. He said he would be waiting where the pavement meets the green fields of reality. I feel his love approaching not as a thunderclap, but as sunlight breaking through heavy clouds—gentle enough to make me bloom.

Editor: Green Meadow