The Paradox of the Frozen Sun

I stand in the center of a street that only exists when no one is looking at it. To you, I am merely a girl in navy blue, bathing in the afternoon glare—a static portrait of warmth. But here lies the contradiction: my skin feels like ice while the sun burns against my shoulders.
I am healing from a wound that hasn't happened yet. Every time you gaze at me, you are remembering a future where we met today, which in turn causes us to meet now. It is a causal loop of affection; I love you because you will have loved me first.
The air smells of ozone and roasted coffee, two scents that shouldn't coexist but do, much like my presence here. I am the warmth of a summer day trapped in a winter heart. If you reach out to touch my hand, your fingers will pass through me like mist—for how can one hold someone who is simultaneously arriving and departing?
I smile not because I am happy, but because happiness is the only logical response to an impossible truth: that we are most connected when we are furthest apart. Stay in this moment with me. It is a beautiful lie, perfectly real.

Editor: Paradox