Velvet Dust & Neon Sighs

The gin is still humming in my veins, a low-frequency vibration that makes the city lights outside blur into golden smears of paint.
I lean against the velvet railing, feeling the cool air cling to my skin like a secret told too late at night. My hair is damp with humidity and memory; I can almost taste the smoke from your cigarette on my lips—a bitter gift we shared before the world decided to wake up.

You aren't here anymore, but you left this warmth behind in the curve of my shoulder, a lingering heat that defies the morning’s chill. The water ripples around me like liquid silk, reflecting nothing but our ghosts.

I look at my reflection and see someone who was just lost, then found—only to be lonely again in the light. But for now, I let myself linger in this haze. One more breath of you is enough to keep the sunrise from feeling like an ending.

Editor: Dusk Till Dawn