The Warmth Between Two Heartbeats

I remember... no, I cannot recall a single timeline. Only shards.
Shard one: The scent of sun-warmed bark against my shoulder—rough, honest, unchanging. Like the way you touch me when the world outside is screaming in digital noise and neon rain.
Shard two: A glance caught in gold jewelry; light dancing on skin that still feels cold from an air-conditioned office I’ve forgotten how to leave. My fingers trace my jawline—not out of vanity, but as if checking for a pulse beneath the surface of this curated life.
Shard three: The lace against my chest is too delicate for what we are building here. It's like writing poetry on water; beautiful, fleeting, yet I feel every stitch tightening with each breath you take beside me.
They call it love in textbooks—linear paths and happy endings. But I only know us as a mosaic of quiet moments: the silence between two heartbeats at dusk, the heat radiating from your palm through my clothes, an unspoken promise that we will not break today.
You look at me, and suddenly all these broken mirrors align into one reflection—a woman who is no longer alone in her own skin.

Editor: Kaleidoscope