Velvet & Rain

The rain tasted like regret, a familiar tang clinging to the damp air.
It always did after he left. The amber glow of the lamp bled across the pages of the worn leather book – a first edition Poe, predictably. It wasn’t about reading, not really. More like holding onto something solid when everything felt like dissolving into the gray.
He’d said I was too melancholic, a collection of shadows and unspoken words.
Perhaps he was right. But the warmth radiating from this old sweater—hand-knitted by my grandmother—was insistent, grounding. The silk dress beneath felt heavy, clinging to me like a secret.
A ghost of his scent lingered – sandalwood and something sharper, something that hinted at restless nights and forgotten promises.
I traced the embossed lettering on the book with my finger, letting the texture seep into my skin. It was a small comfort, this fragile connection to the past.
The steam from my tea blurred the edges of the room, creating another layer of haze. Not unpleasant. Just… permeable. Like his memory.
I closed the book, the snap echoing in the quiet room. Tonight, the rain wouldn’t wash it all away. Not completely. There was a residue, a slow burn beneath the surface - a promise of something that might yet bloom, even in the darkest corners.

Editor: Midnight Neon