The Static Between Heartbeats

He doesn't know about the chipped ceramic of my hope, does he?
That I collect silences like forgotten pennies. Each one a tiny weight.
This city breathes in echoes; promises whispered into brick and steel, lost before reaching ears. My grandmother always said a woman’s gaze is her most potent weapon – to hold someone captive with it.
But what if all that's left are the ghosts of glances? The residue of touch on skin?
The steps beneath me are cold stone. He thinks I don't notice him watching from across the street, a slow smile playing on his lips as he does. A game of shadows and light.
Perhaps I want to be seen only in fragments, refracted through glass, distorted yet… intriguing. It’s dangerous, this quiet pull. This magnetism that thrums between two strangers.
But isn't all beauty a little bit broken? And doesn’t the static sometimes sound like a melody?

Editor: Kaleidoscope