Echoes in the Afterglow

The rain tasted like regret, even now. A lingering film on my tongue, mirroring the dampness clinging to this scarlet silk. It wasn't a glamorous escape, not really. Just…a need to move.

He hadn’t been there when I woke. Not truly. There were ghost-touches in the sheets, phantom warmth where he’d been – a comfort that felt both exquisitely painful and utterly necessary.
I pulled the dress tighter around me, letting the fabric whisper against my skin like a forgotten promise. The city was just beginning to stir below, bruised purple and grey through the rising mist.

It wasn't about running *from* anything, I realized, but towards something blurry and indistinct—a warmth that felt instinctively right, even if it didn’t hold his face.
A single shard of light pierced the clouds above, momentarily blinding me with its intensity. It reminded me of him, a sudden, unexpected burst of brilliance in a world perpetually steeped in shadow.

Maybe oblivion was simply another shade of dawn. And maybe, just maybe, letting go was the only way to find the space for something new.