The Geometry of Lingering Light

Steel hums in the marrow of the earth.
Rust-scented air clings like a memory, heavy and sweet.
The city is a roar I’ve chosen to mute, leaving only this—the green sanctuary where time fractures into golden shards.
I am a reflection in a broken mirror, piece by piece, stitched together by light.
My skin remembers his touch; it’s a lingering vibration against my spine, a map of warmth drawn in invisible ink.
The blue dots on my bikini are tiny constellations scattered across my skin like fallen stars from a different sky.
Why do I turn?
Is it for the ghost of the path behind me?
Or to catch the reflection of a dream still blooming in your eyes?
Healing isn't loud. It’s the soft weight of hair against my neck.
It’s the way I can finally breathe without apology.
A smile, caught like dew on a leaf—a secret shared between the rust and the green.

Editor: Kaleidoscope