The Moon’s Softest Whisper

The city exhales in a rhythmic pulse of neon and steel, but here, on the edge of my balcony, time dissolves like sugar into warm tea.
I lean against the railing—a ghost of white knit over skin warmed by memory—watching the moon hang heavy and luminous as an unread letter from another world.
My fingers trace a line in the air, chasing the silver dust that dances between my hair’s dark ribbons. Each star is a heartbeat caught in glass; each shadow, a secret shared with the night.
I remember how your hand felt—a steady anchor against the tide of this restless metropolis. Now, I hold only the moonlight, yet it carries your name like an echo in a hollow hall.
The breeze hums through my hair, weaving threads of silence into a melody that heals the jagged edges of today’s ache.
I am not lonely; I am simply savoring the delicious weight of longing, letting the cold air kiss my collarbone while my heart glows with a fire you started and never truly extinguished.

Editor: Lyric