The Glass That Kept My Warmth Safe

I stood before the mirror the way one stands before a frozen lake, certain that any touch would break the surface. The light blue dress pooled around me like something out of a dream I had not yet decided to keep. My fingers held the phone steady, capturing myself from this safe distance, because up close I am too warm, too alive, too likely to be found wanting.
The gilded painting above me bloomed with pale flowers that never wilted, a quiet lie about permanence. I envied them their stillness. In this city of glass towers and half-finished sentences, everyone is reaching for someone they cannot name, and the only honest gesture left is to photograph the longing instead of living it.
Then his message arrived, three words that dissolved my frost: 'Come home soon.' Not a command, not a plea, just a door left ajar in the cold. I lowered my phone, set it on the floor beside me like an offering, and felt, for the first time all day, that warmth was not a danger but a destination. I did not smile. I simply let myself be seen.

Editor: Cold Brew