The Silver Glass Between Us

I stand before the mirror, a pale moon captured in silver glass. The morning light is thin and honeyed, filtering through linen curtains like an old memory whispered to a new day.
My breath fogs the surface—a soft cloud that vanishes as quickly as it arrives—leaving only me: skin against porcelain, heart beating beneath white cotton lace. I trace the line of my collarbone with eyes that have forgotten how to dream without him.

The city hums outside our window—the distant roar of engines and the rhythmic pulse of a million lives rushing nowhere. But here, in this tiled sanctuary, time slows its pace until it is nothing more than a single drop falling from the faucet: drip... pause... bloom.
He arrives behind me without a sound, his presence warm as an autumn sun on cold stone. I do not turn; instead, I watch him through the reflection—the way he looks at me like I am both home and horizon.

His hands slide around my waist with effortless precision, fingers tracing patterns of belonging across my skin. The touch is a melody played in silence: low notes of safety, high arcs of longing. He leans close, his lips brushing the nape of my neck—a soft collision that sends shivers cascading down my spine like rain on glass.
In this moment, we are not urbanites lost in concrete labyrinths; we are two souls breathing each other’s rhythm into life. The mirror holds us both: one body here and now, the other a ghost of longing reflected back—until he pulls me closer, merging our shadows into a single dance beneath the pale morning light.

Editor: Lyric