Amber Shadows and Lingering Ghosts

The light doesn't just enter the room; it crawls across my skin like a memory I’m not quite ready to surrender. It’s that specific, heavy gold of late afternoon—the hour when time stretches thin and everything feels like a dream you’re trying to stay inside of.
I can still taste the ghost of his espresso on my tongue, bitter and grounding against the sweetness of the silence we shared last night. My hair is a tangled nest against the pillow, and my skin still carries the faint, cooling imprint of his palms. The city outside is screaming for attention, horns blaring into the humid air, but in here, the only sound is my own breath catching in my chest.
We didn't say much. We didn't have to. In a world that demands constant noise, our silence was an act of rebellion—a slow, deliberate healing. He’s gone now, probably already lost in the gray rhythm of the subway and office lights, but I’m still suspended here in this amber glow.
I lean into the shadows cast by the lattice, letting them trace my ribs like lace. It’s a beautiful kind of ache. I know tomorrow will come with its demands and its sharp edges, but for now, I am just a body held in place by light and longing. Let it stay this way for one more hour. Let the sun finish what we started.

Editor: Dusk Till Dawn