The Golden Hour of Being Mine

I left the city with nothing but a suitcase and an appetite for silence. For years, I had been half of a 'we', fitting my edges to match someone else’s shape until I forgot where he ended and I began.
Standing here in this sea of gold, under a sky that doesn't ask me for anything, I feel the wind tugging at my hair—a wild, untamed invitation. I toss my hat into the air not as an act of carelessness, but as an offering to gravity; let it fall where it may, just like everything else in my life.
There is a subtle heat on my skin that has nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with existing solely for myself. My body feels lighter in this white dress—a canvas waiting for new stories. I remember how he used to hold me, but now I realize I prefer the way I hold my own hand when walking through these fields.
The most seductive thing about being alone is that you are finally your own muse. There is no one here to perform for, yet I have never felt more seen than in this moment of absolute isolation. This isn't loneliness; it is a homecoming to the self.

Editor: Soloist