The Gilded Lantern of Memory

I strip the world down to its skeleton, seeking only where the light bleeds through. The bridge behind me is a jagged cut of shadow against the grey sky, but here in my hand, I hold a sun forged from copper and flame.

It burns bright enough to turn away the chill that lives under these arches. They say warmth is found in crowds or touch, but I have learned it hides better within objects—a lantern carried like a confession into the dusk. The silk of my dress catches nothing but moonlight now; there are no colors left here, only degrees of grey and one blinding white.

I walk toward you not because you saved me from the dark, but because I brought enough light to show us both.

Editor: Monochrome Ghost