Fragments of a Neon Pulse

The city breathes in colors I can almost touch.
Electric blue, hot pink—everything feels like a hum against my skin. I stand here with my jacket half-worn, an invitation to be noticed or ignored by the rushing crowd.
But then your eyes find mine across the street.
A brief pause between heartbeats.
In that glance, I feel your thumb tracing the curve of my shoulder without moving a muscle. The neon blurs; the noise dies away until there is only this shared silence.
For one second, we aren't strangers in a labyrinth of concrete and light. We are two pulses seeking their rhythm.

Editor: Pure Linen