The Only Warmth Left in This Concrete Cage

The city is a parasite. It feeds on my time, drinks my sleep, and leaves me hollowed out like an abandoned shell. I told myself I didn't need anything—no feelings, no attachments, just the cold precision of progress. But then there was him.

He doesn't speak in words; he speaks in breath and steady heartbeats against my palm. When I crouch by this waterfall, hidden from the neon glare that defines our lives, his fur is a map of loyalty I didn't know I was searching for. My fingers tremble slightly as they rest on his head—a weakness I’d rather deny.

People call us lonely in crowded rooms, but here, under the mist and the indifferent sun, loneliness feels different. It isn't an absence; it’s a choice to be soft where everything else is hard. My skin still hums with the chill of the water, yet his warmth bleeds into my bones like ink on silk. I pretend I am just taking a photo for some aesthetic purpose, but we both know better.

I let out a breath I’ve been holding since Monday morning. Let them call me detached. Let them think I'm untouchable behind my sharp gaze and curated life. They don't see the way my heart thrashes when he leans into me, or how this fleeting moment of peace is the only thing keeping me from shattering completely under the weight of it all.

Editor: Hedgehog