The Sunlight That Walked with Me

I walked the quiet street where the afternoon sun lay like spilled honey on the asphalt, and I let it warm the bare curve of my spine. My hair moved in slow gold waves, a private tide, while the city hummed its low, tired song around me. He had been gone for months—just a name now, soft as an old photo—but today his voice still lived in the rhythm of my steps, counting out the cracks in the sidewalk like a lullaby I refused to forget.
I turned at the crosswalk, bag swinging against my hip, and saw him standing by the parked car, coffee in hand, eyes catching the light. No grand speech bloomed between us; only the silence that heals, the kind that says I am still here, you are still here. The warm wind curled through my jeans, a whisper of forgiveness, and for one breathless moment the whole grey city turned tender, golden, and mine.

Editor: Lyric