The Quiet Bloom of Winter Light

The city always feels a little colder when he's not around, doesn’t it?
Even bundled in layers, the memory of his warmth lingers on my skin—a phantom touch that makes me shiver, but pleasantly so. I found myself wandering here again, to this secluded park where the snow falls softer and the world seems hushed. It's a foolish habit, seeking out places that only remind me of moments shared.
He said he liked how the winter light caught in my eyes, turning them golden. A silly thing to remember, maybe. But it’s these small details—the way his hand fit perfectly into mine, the quiet understanding that passed between us with a single glance—that I find myself replaying endlessly.
Today, though, there's something different. The cold doesn't bite as sharply; instead, a gentle warmth begins to bloom within me. Perhaps it’s not about waiting for him to chase away the chill, but learning to carry my own sunshine inside. A subtle shift, yet profound.
A soft snowflake lands on my cheek. I close my eyes and breathe in the crisp air, and as if summoned by a wish, a familiar scent drifts towards me—his cologne. He's here. And suddenly, winter doesn’t feel so lonely after all.

Editor: Coco