The Geometry of a Missed Connection at 3 AM

I watched the neon signs flicker from my window, waiting for a ghost that never showed. The apartment smelled of stale coffee and rain, but now there is only you sitting here in this sliver of golden light before dawn breaks us apart again.

Your skin glows like warm porcelain against the bruised blue hour outside, catching every shadow I tried to hide behind my cynicism today. We are two broken satellites finally aligning for a split second orbit; just long enough to remember how it feels not to be alone in this concrete forest.

Editor: Terminal Chronicler