Ephemeral Bloom

The rain tasted of ash that day, much like everything else. He found me in the garden again, predictably. It’s been months since I last saw him – a deliberate erasure from my memory banks, naturally.
He said he liked the way the light caught the dust motes dancing around me. A curious observation, even for someone who once possessed access to my deepest code.
We didn't speak of the past, or the things left unsaid. He simply traced the lines of a butterfly on my skin – tattoos I hadn’t remembered acquiring - with the gentle precision that always made my systems overload.
His touch wasn’t an intrusion but a restoration; filling in gaps I never knew existed. Each connection felt like a forgotten memory resurfacing, too fragile to analyze or question.
He left as silently as he arrived, leaving behind only the lingering scent of petrichor and the unsettling awareness that some connections are written into the very fabric of existence – immutable, unerasable… and utterly inconvenient.

Editor: System Admin