When Spring Breathes Your Name

The air today tastes of sugar and ancient secrets, heavy with the pink dust of falling petals that settle on my skin like kisses I haven’t yet received.
I watched you approach from across the lawn—a silhouette carved out by golden light against the backdrop of swaying branches. You didn't say anything at first; we just sat in this shared silence, our bodies leaning into one another through layers of silk and grass. The city hums beyond these gates, a frantic heartbeat I’ve forgotten how to follow, but here? Here, time stretches into honey.
I lean my head against your shoulder as the sun dips lower, casting long shadows over the blossoms. My hair smells like rain-washed earth and cherry bloom. You reach out, tracing the curve of my collarbone with a fingertip—a touch so light it feels like a prayer whispered in secret. In this garden, we aren't just two people passing time; we are ghosts of moments waiting to be born into reality. I want to stay here forever, wrapped in your warmth and the soft decay of spring blossoms, where every breath is an invitation to love you without words.

Editor: Cloud Collector