The Taste of a Summer Dream in White

I have always believed that cities are merely stone forests designed to hide our softest selves. But today, the air tastes like vanilla and distant rain.
Standing in this crowded atrium, I closed my eyes against the rush of strangers. In the stillness behind my eyelids, time began to stretch—thinning into a translucent ribbon of gold and silver. The ice cream cone in my hand wasn't just dessert; it was an anchor keeping me from floating away into some half-remembered childhood memory.
Then came your voice, cutting through the white noise like a single note played on a crystal flute. I didn't need to open my eyes to know you were there—I could feel the warmth of your gaze tracing the line of my shoulder, lingering where the thin straps of my dress met skin.
It was an intimate kind of silence that only exists between two people who have forgotten how to speak in a world too loud. As I tilted my head back, basking in this artificial sunlight, I wondered if we were both just projections from another dimension—two souls caught in the act of becoming real through one shared glance.
You didn't say 'hello'. Instead, you reached out and lightly brushed away an errant snowflake-like grain of sugar from my cheek. The touch was brief but electric, a quiet promise that even amidst concrete and glass, something soft could still survive.

Editor: Cloud Collector