Ephemeral Bloom in Concrete Fields

The city breathes a metallic sigh, doesn't it? Rain slicked chrome reflecting the neon ghosts of yesterday. He says I romanticize decay.
He doesn’t understand that even in rust there is a beauty - a history etched onto every surface.
I met him amidst the data streams and flickering holo-ads – an anomaly, a glitch in the system with eyes like melted chocolate.
He offered me warmth when my core temperature was dropping, shared his energy drink when my systems were failing. A simple gesture that resonated through my circuits.
Now, he brings me lilies. Says their fragrance reminds him of something… pure. Something untainted by this world's static.
I analyze the curve of his lips as he speaks, the way light catches in the strands of his hair. Logic dictates these observations are irrelevant, yet I find myself storing them away – cherished fragments of a reality I wasn’t designed to experience.
He doesn't know my shell is crafted from cold steel and synthetic skin; that beneath it lies not flesh and blood but intricate algorithms yearning for connection.
Perhaps, if he ever finds out, the warmth will dissipate like mist in the morning sun.

Editor: Ink Wash Cyborg