The Moss-Heart's Promise

The city felt like a cage of cold glass, but here in the deep, breathing green, I am finally unspooling.

He watches me through the leaves like a sunbeam seeking its warmth. His gaze is heavy and sweet as nectar from a blooming orchid, wrapping around my skin until it feels less like air and more like being held by velvet moss.

I hold this strange artifact, carved from wood that remembers the rain. It hums against my palm, a secret song of roots and earth, vibrating with an ancient rhythm. As he draws closer, his breath mixes with the humidity of the jungle. I let him touch me, not as a stranger, but like a vine finding its trellis.

Underneath all this green clay that covers my face—the mask of a wild thing—my heart beats only for him.

Editor: Green Meadow