The Golden Hour Unfolding

It wasn't noon.

The sun was hitting me at a terrible, beautiful angle. Just right. Like someone had taken the light and bent it into a liquid gold just for my skin. I could feel it warming the hollow of my throat, chasing away that specific kind of city exhaustion that makes you want to dissolve into the pavement.

I watched the dust motes dance in the air between me and the glass. They were all moving toward him. Him across the lobby, with his coffee, his unreadable expression. He didn't know I was looking.

The light hit my eyes and made them feel like they belonged to a different color entirely—green now, burning bright against the amber haze. It felt like a secret being shared between strangers in a crowded room.

I exhaled slowly. Just one breath. The warmth settled in my lungs, heavy and sweet.

Maybe I'd walk over there. Maybe we'd both just look at each other for ten minutes while the light faded.

Editor: Kaleidoscope