The Softest Place to Land

He came home late, the city still humming outside. I did not ask where he had been. I only pulled the black jacket off my shoulders and let it pool on the leather, as if the day could finally rest there too.
The string lights above us glow like slow honey. My white linen sits close to my skin, soft and unhurried. When he kneels beside me, his breath is warm against my neck, and I feel the heartbeat in my own chest answer it without being asked.
I smile because this is the whole of love for me now: not grand gestures, but a quiet room, a shared silence, and the simple fact that I am allowed to be soft here. The world outside can keep its noise. In this small warm corner, only tenderness remains.

Editor: Pure Linen